Ain't Like That
by darylsdiva1
Summary: It's been more than a year since Rick left Carol behind with little but an old car and a few supplies. Daryl's search for her brings him to a small thriving community in the pine forests of Northern Georgia. Caryl.
1. Chapter 1

_**Ain't Like That**_

"How can we help you friend?"

"I'm lookin' for someone."

"Who isn't? We're all a little lost these days, m'I right?" the tall man chuckled.

"A woman…about yea high." Daryl held his right hand out parallel to the ground, at about shoulder height. "Short silver hair, big blue eyes—smart, knows healin'—good cook…" At the man's skeptical look Daryl paused and thought of the woman for whom he'd been searching. How else would someone describe Carol? "Little bit of a thing, but _strong_...and…and…real pretty…" he added, slightly embarrassed.

"I can see why you're lookin' for her—wife run out on ya?" the man said with a raised eyebrow and a hint of concern or suspicion. At Daryl's dead pan gaze the guardian at the gate tried again.

"Girlfriend? Sister? Mother?"

Daryl frowned. He wasn't sure how to define what Carol was to him. He just knew he had to find her and had spent the last nine months traveling from town to town, stopping at every settlement he came across, getting shot at or screamed at or wept on for his trouble.

"One of my group—got left behind."

"Group?" the bearded man looked behind Daryl and raised his rifle protectively.

"It's just me now—I wasn't the one who left her." Daryl told him darkly, feeling no need to explain himself further. Rick had given him an ultimatum. Go after Carol and he shared her fate, exile.

"So if we had someone here answerin' to that intriguing description she'd _want _to see you?" the sentry asked. Daryl tried not to show his impatience. He'd heard this sort of question before, three other times, while on his search. He'd met a Caroline, a perfectly pleasant seventy year old blue haired grandmother, a Cheryl, a white blond punk rock teenager and a Corona, a salt of the earth, down right _hippie_ chick who'd read his aura and told him he'd find the one he'd 'saved from sorrow.' That was when he'd stopped asking for her by name, realizing that she'd probably changed it, distancing herself from the person she'd been.

"I think so." Daryl said plainly. "Guess you'll have to ask _her_ that."

"And whom shall I say is calling?" the guard asked formally, slipping into a fake British accent, winking at him. Daryl snorted and rolled his eyes at the man. He held up his hands and pointed to his vest, indicating he was going to reach inside for something. The other man pointed his gun at Daryl, but nodded that he could go ahead.

"Just give her this." Daryl said, and pulled a dried and slightly browned white flower from his vest pocket and handed it to the man. The guard put down his gun and looked intrigued, taking the Cherokee Rose from the newcomer, wondering at the seemingly romantic gesture from so rough looking a man. The scruffy beard, the long dark hair falling in his eyes, the crossbow, the large knife, the pistol, the big chopper bike, the leather sleeved coat and vest, and the ragged Clint Eastwood poncho had not done him any favors in his approach to the gate. The younger sentry's opinion was that they should just shoot him and be done with it, but Abraham had been impressed by how patiently the man had waited, three days, just out of range, quickly, efficiently and silently killing any geeks that wandered by him, before he had approached, leaving all of his visible weapons, except the knife at his belt, back with the motorcycle.

"A'right." Abraham said, nodding, and after a few beats he kicked the gate behind him three times with the back of his boot. A small peephole about 2/3 of the way up the door slid open.

"Hey Sam, tell Lori there's someone at the gate she might know—give her this." And the sentry handed through the flower.

Daryl's heart jumped a little. That was a name she would choose; another woman their erstwhile leader had loved, but shut out when he didn't like her decisions, her judgments differing from his. In the end Rick had regretted his choice, losing the chance to alter it forever when his wife had died giving birth to their daughter. This time his choice had cost him not only Carol, but Daryl as well.

He'd stayed long enough to make sure there were enough healthy people to keep the prison community going, and then had been forced to remain longer still when the Governor had reappeared casting his malignant shadow on them all. It had been harrowing, but after four months they had put him down, Daryl's own bolt through the monster's remaining eye followed swiftly by Michonne's katana cutting him in half.

Rick had argued, berated, cajoled, and tried to threaten him into staying, but in the end it came down to a question of loyalty. To whom did Daryl owe the most?

"Just remember. I liked you first." Carol had teased that last morning before it all went to shit at the prison. It was a throwaway line, meant to tweak him because of all of the admiration and respect he'd gotten as he strode through the outdoor breakfast area, but it was a basic truth about him and her. When everyone else, including Rick, had dismissed him as an untrustworthy redneck hothead, Carol had believed in him, trusted him to find Sophia, told him he was every bit as good as the lawmen who ruled the roost and called the shots.

He'd been on the road ever since. It'd been thirteen months since Rick's summary judgment had left Carol alone with a few supplies and an old car.

It seemed to take forever for the man called Sam to return and Daryl absently played with the irregular shaped light green stone in his pocket, a rough chunk of jasper he'd found in the road on his last run before leaving the prison. They'd gotten the meds that would save Glenn, Sasha and the others who had been exposed later, during the rescue after the walker attack, but too late to save those who'd lived in D block, as Karen and David had. Every one of the people who'd been exposed to the illness at the same time as the two Carol had ended was now dead from either the illness or from being bitten by those who were. By every indication she had merely ended their suffering before it had progressed to the stage at which they would've drowned in their own blood. But still Rick wouldn't give. He wouldn't admit that while she'd acted prematurely without consulting others, the end result would've been the same. Karen and David had been doomed from the minute they started coughing.

Daryl heard the sound of chains being rattled and the creak of hinges. The big door in front of him and behind the sentry swung back, opening.

"Raise your arms and turn around." The large Hispanic man called Sam, who had opened the door, barked at Daryl. Sighing impatiently he did as he was bidden. He felt himself being patted down; his buck knife and the pistol he had shoved in the back of his pants waist were unceremoniously taken from him. The green stone was taken when they turned out his pockets, but then returned with a grunt.

"A'right, Angel, you can come with me—Abraham will get your bike and gear." Sam said and nodded at him.

"Angel?" Abraham asked curiously.

"She said to check for his wings." Sam responded dryly and Abraham snorted out a laugh, slapping Daryl on the back, right on the cloth feathers that graced the back of his leather vest. Daryl's heart contracted painfully, his head felt light. He turned and peered behind his new escort, looking for Carol's face, but she was not amongst the crowd of curious onlookers.

"Guess you know the Doc after all!" Abe said cheerfully and motioned two younger men over to take over guard duty and to help him get Daryl's things, respectively. "Tell her I need some more willow bark tea—arthritis is paining me somthin' awful this mornin'" he called out after them as Daryl followed the big man into the camp's interior.

The wooden stockade constructed from the sturdy lob-lolly pines was set up in much the same way as a frontier fort or an early medieval castle, complete with a dry moat filled with sharpened poles and a small scale draw-bridged entrance. The interior was filled with sturdy looking military or FEMA tents and some half-finished log cabins, even a few teepees. They were all organized around an open central courtyard which the two men now crossed, heading for a large tent marked with a Red Cross symbol.

"So how do you know Doc Dixon?" Sam asked conversationally, and Daryl's feet suddenly forgot how to lift and fall in synch with one another and he stumbled against the other man who caught him and set him right.

_"Dixon?"_ Daryl choked out.

"You're at Fort Dixon, brother, didn't you know? Named after the founder herself, Lori Dixon. She's been gatherin' folks together here, better part of a year now, got us organized, walls built—you just missed the big shindig a week ago to celebrate the laying of the last log." He said proudly, sweeping his arm out to encompass the fort precincts. He greeted the people he passed, who nodded and either stared at or ignored Daryl.

"She told us she ain't a real doctor with no degree, but she knows a lot and keeps studying all the books we bring back—saved a lot of lives." Sam said, "That why you're lookin' for her—missing yer medic and want her back?" he asked with a definite message that they wouldn't be too happy if that were the case.

"That's not why I'm missing her." Daryl said quietly.

Sam stopped and turned to face Daryl, put his hand on the shorter man's shoulder, halting him and looked at him assessingly.

"Never got yer name, mister."

"Daryl. Daryl _Dixon_." Daryl said, narrowing his eyes into a level stare. Sam's mouth came open and his hand fell away from Daryl's shoulder. Daryl pointed at the knife that had been taken from him that the other man carried. Sam lifted it and saw that "D. DIXON" was indeed carved into the bone handle.

"Well, I'll be." Sam drawled, "That explains a lot." Daryl frowned at him. "Mighty fine woman—lotsa guys interested in gettin' to know her better, if 'n you know what I mean." Daryl's frown deepened, "more'n a few women too," and Sam's eyebrows waggled suggestively, and Daryl crossed his arms in front of him, his scowl now one that could easily intimidate a _walker_, while Sam continued. "But she always says no. Real nice about it, lets 'em down easy, but—"

"Ain't like that." Daryl bit out and started walking towards the med tent, leaving the other man behind. While he was still about fifteen feet away, the doorway was pushed open from the inside and a young woman carrying a small baby came through, followed by the woman for whom he had been searching so long. She was smiling, saying something to the girl when her head went up, as if sensing his presence, and they locked eyes, blue on blue. She bit her lip and closed her hands into fists, one crushing white petals, visibly battling herself to stand her ground, but he had no such problem and started walking more quickly towards her until finally he was running, dodging the startled people in between them.

Carol's hand went to her mouth and she started crying and then she was running as well, meeting him halfway in an embrace that lifted her off her feet, her arms going around his neck, his around her shoulders, holding her tightly to him.

_"Ain't like that."_ Sam snorted derisively.

* * *

**_Thanks for reading. This one forced itself out of me late last night instead of the chapter for "Bittersweet" I was trying to work on, LOL! I'm not sure if there is any more of it in there yet...we'll see!_**


	2. Chapter 2: Congratulations

_**OK, so there was at least one more chapter in there...**_

* * *

_**Congratulations**_

"Lori?" the girl with the baby looked curiously at the woman she had come to respect so much over the last several months. She was enfolded in the muscular arms of a shaggy biker that Sara had never seen before. His face was serene, eyes tightly shut, holding Lori's head in the crook of his neck and shoulder, the fingers of his big hand tangled in her short silvered curls. This was the mystery man, the one that everyone in their small community had been speculating on since his arrival at the gates three days ago. When the sentries had reported it, the Doc had paled slightly when he'd been described to her, but quickly recovered and told them to wait him out, to see if he approached before doing anything.

This morning he'd finally left his small campsite at the edge of the forest and approached the gates, meeting Abe and sending a token in for their leader. Sara had been the only one with her when it had been delivered, there with the baby, changing her after her feeding. She been concerned when she saw the tears fill Lori's eyes as she held the faded white blossom in her hand, looking at the bouquet of them she always kept on the desk in her office.

"Doc?" Sara had asked, watching Lori huff out a breath and angrily wipe her eyes. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing…everything…I don't know…" Lori smiled ruefully at her young nurse.

"I don't understand." Sara frowned, picking up the baby girl and carrying her over to the other woman. Lori took the little girl in her arms and cradled her so she could look down in her big blue eyes.

"That's the first step in learning, now, isn't it?" Lori said, smiling. "Admitting one's ignorance." She tickled the baby's soft belly, "You're just growing like a weed aren't you, lil' bit?" she said to the child who smiled and gurgled happily.

"You can tell Sam to bring him in." Lori said, sighing, still looking down at the infant, rocking her from side to side. When Sara hesitated, the older woman looked up at her. "What?"

"Is he…" Sara looked down at the baby, "Is he a _good_ man?"

"Best man I know." Lori said, leaning down and placing a kiss on the baby's sweet smelling head. She looked back up at Sara and smiled, "Go on now—you can come back for her when you're done."

Frowning slightly, Sara went to find Sam.

"Well, little one, I guess the chickens have finally come home to roost." She said in a baby talk tone, soothing the child as she paced with her, "Mr. Daryl Dixon thinks he can show up and blow up my new life after more'n a year, he's gotta another thing comin'," and then her tone turned indulgent, almost silly, _"Yes he does, he's got another thing comin'_"punctuating each word with a bounce. "And if he's the advance scout for that nasty old sheriff Grimes, well he can just go fuck himself, now, can't he?" she frowned and sighed, "Sorry—didn't mean to expose you to my mouth—that's _his_ fault too." Spending time with Daryl had had its bonuses, she thought, shifting the baby onto her shoulder and patting her back, but it had wrecked her vocabulary by normalizing certain colorful invectives.

"Damn you Dixon! Out of all the post-apocalyptic settlements in all the world, why did you have to find your way to mine?" she sighed again, deeply. "Especially after they named it after you." She added crossly.

Carol had realized that keeping her own name might end up being a liability if she ever did hook up with a new group, so she'd chosen the names of her two best friends since the turn, the people she'd loved and lost, Lori and Daryl. She'd burned her old ID, claiming it was long gone, a common tale these days, and assumed her new identity. Heading north she'd driven until she'd run out of gas, which had brought her to a site only about three miles from here, where she'd been trying to siphon more out of a traffic pile up when she'd met up with Abraham, Rosita and Daniel, the first of what had grown to be a community of forty people.

She'd been a taskmaster, organizing them according to their talents and abilities much as she'd done at the prison. The fort had at its center an old log cabin hunting lodge, where they'd first sheltered, offering protection against the walkers that still roamed the woods. The nearby pine forest had given her the idea of the wall—wood logs, reinforced with x bracing, not easily collapsible like wire fences.

One of the early arrivals had been in the Army Core of Engineers—a miraculous find—and they had picked his brain about structural design and materials, starting with the stockade walls. Carol had fallen ill the third month in and everyone worried that one of the now deadly without proper meds flu-like viruses had hit her, but she quarantined herself, wondering as she vomited her guts out if this was God's little ironic joke. No one else fell ill and so construction, scavenging and community building continued as she recovered.

They'd established a council, similar to what had worked at the prison, but the people had insisted on naming the town after her, since it had been her vision of it as a possibility that had kept them going. She'd been honored, but it had also been a painful reminder of just how much she'd lost from the too hasty decision she'd made back at the prison. If this new group had followed her lead, instead of waiting to see if she recovered and continuing to care for her, she'd be dead. If she'd have waited she wouldn't have been cast out without even the chance to say goodbye to the girls, to all of her friends from the farm and Atlanta…and to Daryl.

Carol had known for quite some time that she loved Daryl Dixon, but she'd been afraid to tell him so. They'd grown closer than she'd ever thought possible, had been on the brink of something when everything fell apart. Poor Patrick, the walkers in D, Karen and David… and then the clogged water line, her confession, the run with Rick—for most of the last events Daryl had been gone on the run for meds. She didn't even know if he had come back from that trip until he'd shown up here three days ago. That was actually one way she'd consoled herself in the darkest hours of the last year: he hadn't come after her because he was dead. She still didn't know if believing that was better than thinking he'd been unable to forgive what she'd done; that he'd hated her so much he'd given her up for dead or had never cared enough to look for her.

But now he was here, big as life, and was on his way in to see her.

Sara returned and Carol handed the sleeping child off to her.

"You can take her home now." She told the nurse, picking up a soft yellow blanket and wrapping it around the baby, tucking it in between their bodies. Sara put her hand on her friend's arm and looked at her searchingly.

"Lori—is he the one?" the younger woman asked, and after they stared at one another for a few beats, Carol finally nodded yes. "Does he know?" she asked, probing further. Carol nodded no and it was Sara's turn to tear up. "Are you going to tell him?" she asked.

Carol pursed her lips, trying to keep herself from starting to cry again and lifted the Cherokee Rose off of the table to look at it once more and then put her hand on the baby's back.

"Take her home, Sara. He'll be here soon." She said, "I don't know exactly why he's here and he can be a bit of a handful depending on his mood—"

"He wouldn't hurt you!" Sara said, aghast. "It wasn't your fault you got separated!" That was the story Carol had told—that she had been separated from her group by a herd and had been unable to find them again when their camp had been overrun, borrowing Andrea's story from the farm. She'd been so much luckier than her friend had in Woodbury…

"Sam will be here to watch over me, don't worry." She said, gently urging the girl toward the door, smiling reassuringly at her. Just as they'd gone through she spotted him, his long graceful strides propelling him across the green in front of the MASH tent. She took a deep breath and then bit her lip so she wouldn't call out to him, holding the flower in a death grip, rooted to the spot.

And then he started to run, the look on his face so full of raw emotion she'd started weeping and launched herself off of the porch, matching his speed, being grabbed up into his arms, meeting on equal terms. He wasn't rescuing her this time, she had rescued herself.

"Where the_ hell_ have you been, woman?" he growled, lifting his head so he could look down at her tear stained face, keeping his arms around her as if he was afraid she would flee. She laughed through her tears.

"I've been right here—where the hell have _you_ been?" she returned, holding onto his leather vest tightly.

_"Looking for you."_ He said softly, reaching up his right hand to push her hair off her face. "Got longer." He observed, though still a shorter hairstyle, it now curled prettily around her face, longer than he'd even seen it.

"It's been more than a year, Daryl, things change in a year." She told him, raising an eyebrow.

"Things?" he asked, looking a bit worried.

"Stuff… things…" she said dryly, reminding them both of the reason they hadn't seen each other in 13 months; the _person._

"Are they ok?" Carol asked softly, tearing up again. "Carl, the girls…everyone?"

Daryl nodded.

"Governor's dead. Michonne and I took him out." He told her.

"Good." Carol said with satisfaction and he nodded in agreement.

"Quite a place you got here, _Lori,_ this Fort Dixon," Daryl said, tongue in cheek, looking around.

"Thought you'd like that." Carol smirked.

"Guess you didn't forget me." He said softly, much more seriously.

"Never." She told him and he gave her a tiny corner of the mouth smile. "Daryl?" she asked.

"Yeah?"

"Why are you here?" she frowned at him, her eyes roaming his face.

"Wasn't right—what Rick did."

"Neither was what I did." Carol said sadly.

"They _all_ died, Ca—_Lori_—all of them from D. _All_ the adults." He told her. She looked painfully sad and bowed her head in sorrow.

"Oh God. I'm so sorry. That must have been horrible for Hershel and Dr. S—"

"Dr. S too…" Daryl had to tell her, "But Hershel got Sasha, Glenn, Lizzie and the rest through with the Vet school meds."

"I'm glad Daryl, but I… I can't go back. I've made a new life for myself here—Rick was right about that. They need me here; it's been a second chance for me."

"They still handin' those out around here, then?" Daryl asked, softly brushing a kiss to her cheek, startled, Carol pulled back to look into his eyes. She saw something there she'd only seen once before, an openness, a willingness to take a risk. After that one time he'd closed back up, put even more distance between them, but she'd been slowly making progress with him, back to teasing and pet names, easing him through his nervous skittishness over more intimacy, when the sickness had struck the prison.

"Is that what you really want, Daryl?" she asked him, reaching her hand up to cup his cheek, remembering the feel of the rough scrub scruff there so well, how it had felt against her skin the one night they'd had together, a month before she'd been banished.

In reply he kissed her other cheek and nodded and then captured her mouth with his, fisting his hands in the back of her blouse, holding her close, reminding himself of how much he had wanted her, needed her, missed her…

The passionate sweet kiss was interrupted by the wailing cry of an infant in a temper, and Carol sighed and rested her forehead on Daryl's.

"Not the most private place to be doin' this." Daryl observed, looking to the side, meeting Sam's amused gaze.

"Lori? What do you want me to do about Rose?" Sara asked, and Daryl's head swiveled in the opposite direction, wide eyed at the child's name, to look at the young African American woman and the grumpy, howling, blue-eyed strawberry blonde child she held.

"Might as well let her daddy hold her." Carol said with a small smile, nodding at a dumbfounded Daryl, "He's real good with babies."

_"Congratulations, poppa Dixon, it's a girl."_ Sam said smugly.

* * *

**_Happy happy Caryl feels all around; )  
_**

**_Guess it was like that, Daryl... ha!_**


	3. Chapter 3: Wednesday's Child

_**Thanks to all readers, followers, favorites and of course, the wonderful reviewers! A longer chapter here as a treat for you.**_

_**A bit of a flashback for some explanation of how exactly Rose came to be; sweet smut warning. Enjoy!**_

* * *

_**Wednesday's Child**_

_Monday's child is full of grace  
Tuesday's child is fair of face  
Wednesday's child is full of woe  
Thursday's child has far to go  
Friday's child is loving and giving  
Saturday's child works hard for a living  
And the child that is born on the Sabbath Day  
is bonny and blithe and good and gay._

* * *

In the comfortable cabin where Carol and Rose resided, Daryl paced the room, carrying his daughter as he tried to figure out exactly which questions to ask first. Carol sat on the small couch, watching him. He hadn't put the baby down since Sara had warily handed her over to him in front of the med tent almost an hour ago.

They'd made sure his bike and gear were brought to her place and safely stowed, stopped by the camp kitchen to get him a hot meal and had endured a short debate with the Council about returning his weapons to him. There was a strict policy about a three day waiting period for newcomers, but when Carol had vouched for him, they had wavered. The deciding factor had been the fact that she so trusted him with her child.

"How did this happen?" Daryl asked, as he gently held the little girl, _his_ little girl in his arms, staring down at her. Carol huffed out a breath and he raised his head to look at her droll raised eyebrow expression and shook his head at her. "I mean I know _how_ it happened…_when_ it happened, but uh…we used…ya know…" and he made a funny little nod and shrug, spots of color appearing on his high cheekbones. He'd snuck into Glenn and Maggie's room while they were on fence duty to get them, leaving some chocolate bars he'd picked up on his last run in exchange—a little barter system Glenn had announced one day to the prison community at large.

"Not the third time." She said, sighing heavily in remembrance. Daryl reddened further. It _had _been a hell of a night…

* * *

**14 months ago: West Georgia Correctional Facility, Warden's Office**

"Look at this mess." Carol said, shaking her head. The space was strewn with papers. Machinery and furniture was smashed and broken pieces of it were scattered all around the rooms and the hallways of the Administration Building. The rioting prisoners had been especially hard on the Warden's Office, toppling the tall bookshelves and file cabinets, knocking paintings and awards askew on the walls and attempting to break everything breakable. A single sad coffee mug sat on the big mahogany desk, teetering precariously over the edge next to a Dell computer monitor that looked like someone had taken a hammer to it. Carol picked up the mug, which read "Java Saves" and set it away from the edge.

Daryl paced nervously along the edge of the room, always watchful, listening and looking for any sign of movement.

"We cleaned this building out Daryl, it's clear." Carol reminded him. The sweep for walkers had been very thorough because this was their fall back site in case the fences were breached. The children and elderly would be relocated here if need be.

"Never hurts to be sure." Daryl said stubbornly, using the end of his cross bow to push back the room darkening curtains and peer out the high tall narrow barred windows to the grounds below. He saw Rick and Carl at work in the gardens, Beth bringing Judith to see them, trailed by her beau, Zack. Glenn and Maggie were supervising the fence clearers, including Karen and Tyreese…everyone was pairing up…he snuck a look back over at Carol who was lifting the remnants of a broken chair off of what appeared to be a large black leather sofa pushed up against the back wall of the office space across from the desk.

"Measure twice, cut once." Carol murmured softly. "Hey—there's actually a really nice davenport under here!" she said happily.

_"Davenport?"_ Daryl said, distracted by the fancy word. "You mean a couch?"

"Couch, sofa, davenport—whatever!" Carol said. "It's big and it's leather and it's…" she had cleared it off enough that she could touch the dark surface, "Oh my God it's like butter!" she groaned and finished clearing the entire surface and then plopped herself down on it, luxuriating in the feel of the supple leather, running her hands over the seat cushions to either side of her hips, closing her eyes and laying her head back on the upper pillow soft ones.

Daryl winced as he saw the picture she made, her pale skin in the sleeveless tank top combo she wore silhouetted against the black leather, the contented almost sexual look of relaxed abandon on her face as she gave herself up to the welcome pleasurable sensation of touching something so soft…he felt his heart rate speed up as he recalled how soft _she_ was the few times he'd actually held her in his arms.

He'd been saving her, those times, when he'd held her close, focused on stopping her from going to or carrying her away from danger, but he'd still noticed.

Carol opened her eyes and looked at him, hovering between the window and the door, like a stray unsure of its welcome, starved for affection, but afraid a blow will be his reward for venturing closer. She leaned towards him; felt the loose strap of her shirt slip off of her shoulder, inadvertently revealing to any one observant that she wasn't wearing a bra.

Daryl was a tracker. Daryl was_ very_ observant. He swallowed hard.

"Come sit—you make me tired just looking at you." Carol said, lazily patting the couch cushion next to her and smiling indulgently.

* * *

They'd been playing this cat and mouse game for at least a month now. She would schedule them for some task in a relatively isolated spot of the prison so she could get him alone; get him to feel_ comfortable_ being alone with her. They'd work and talk, share a snack and some banter, all very innocent and easy going. They spent most of their waking hours, when he wasn't out on a run, together, their easy camaraderie well in play around others, but it had taken a lot of concentrated effort on her part to maintain that ease when they were alone. She had come to realize that when they were alone together, _she_ made _him_ nervous. That realization had done something to her—made her stomach flutter and her hands tingle.

The trick had been to act as if she couldn't care less if he was nearby. She'd ignore him when he came into the room, merely giving perhaps a quick nod of greeting to him and then she'd be on to whatever was the task at hand, trusting that he would figure out what he needed to do to help. It respected his autonomy and need for freedom, but it also meant that he had to watch her or ask her questions to make sure he was doing what she wanted him to do. She knew this would be a good object lesson if they ever actually did take their relationship to another level…a more intimate one.

Carol thought that's where this was leading, all of this patient maneuvering and manipulating she'd been doing; she hoped it was. A couple of days ago when he'd come to breakfast and saw the new duty roster, he'd ripped it off of the wall and brought it to her, slapping it down on the table where she sat, feeding Judith.

"You got me workin' the fences with Zack n' David on Wednesday afternoon." He said, sounding quite annoyed. Carol reached out and spun the chart around and looked at it, nodding in agreement.

"That's right—do you need to go on a run? I can see if I can shuffle—"she began.

"Tha's the day you an' me are supposed to survey the Admin Buildin'!" he interrupted, practically pouting.

"It is?" Carol feigned confusion, sitting up straighter and looking closely at the form. "Here—take her." She said, handing Jude off to him so she could look through the paperwork at her side. Daryl took the little girl, who cooed at him and tugged at his hair and beard, giggling when he admonished her not to pull so hard.

"Ouch—_hurts_ Unka Daryl, honey." He said in a low voice, capturing both of her sticky hands with his right one. She looked up at him solemnly, nodded and leaned her head against him in apology.

"Oh _damn_ it." Carol said, looking at her papers. "I put _next_ week's schedule up—see? The dates are wrong." She said, holding the offending papers out for him to see.

"So we're on for Wednesday?" Daryl asked and the heads of several people under the canopied outdoor eating area perked up and turned towards the couple.

"Looks like you were right." Carol agreed, smiling and holding out her hands for the baby.

"Naw—I'll keep her—gimme her bottle and we'll take a little walk." Daryl said, grinning, in a much better mood now than he had been a few minutes ago. Carol handed over the formula and he popped it in the baby's mouth and off they went, the incongruous pair: the man with the ripped arms, leather angel vest and torn dungarees with the pudgy baby all in pink.

Karen and Maggie came and sat down across from Carol as soon as Daryl was out of earshot. They were grinning and when she scowled at them they began slowly clapping.

"Masterful, just masterful." Maggie crowed.

"Really Carol, you should teach a class." Karen agreed, winking at her.

Carol ignored them and shuffled and straightened her papers, clicking them on the table top to perfect alignment and putting them back down.

"I have no idea what you are talking about." Carol said with an air of indifference, but she couldn't keep it up and her face slowly slipped into a little satisfied smile.

"I knew it!" Maggie laughed.

"I admire your patience, girl." Karen said, glancing over at Daryl, now talking to Tyreese as he held Judith.

"Well, not all of us get to be the one _chased_." Carol said, her eyes rising to Tyreese as well.

"Don't think I don't know he asked you to adjust that schedule of yours in _his_ favor a few times as well." Karen said, putting her hand on Carol's and giving it a squeeze. _"Thanks."_ She said sincerely.

"He's a good man." Carol smiled back.

"So's yours." Karen said and Maggie's throat clearing and pointing at Glenn who was just coming into the room had her hastily adding, with a laugh. "And yours!"

_Her man?_ Is that what Daryl was? Maybe Wednesday would be time to put that to the test.

* * *

"What are you afraid of, Daryl?" Carol asked quietly, after he had stayed frozen to his spot between the door and window, his head down, his back literally against the wall for several minutes. His chin stayed down, but his eyes rose to hers, hesitant, shy. He shrugged one shoulder, chewed on his lower lip and then the thumb rose to his lips to be gnawed, the child-like coping behaviors so at odds with his usual aura of strength and competence that she sighed.

"You wanted to be alone with me." She reminded him, "Didn't you?"

Daryl's mouth curled into a confused downward bow and he half nodded, as if he was exasperated with himself.

_"I'll be gentle with you."_ She whispered, lightly teasing him, but his head jerked up, he scowled at her and before she could think of what to do to stop him he slammed out of the room.

Carol sat there for a few minutes, stunned, not sure what she had done wrong. Had she embarrassed him? Been too forward? Implied that he didn't know what he was doing? Well hell, any other man she would've given up on a long time ago. Daryl was special.

She pulled her old watch out of her front pants pocket—she really needed to ask someone to look for a new band for it—and saw that it was almost three o'clock. After locking the door, she turned and stretched out on the luxurious couch, turning on her side to pillow her head on her arms. She'd cleared the whole afternoon for this; she might as well try to get a nap in the peace and quiet for once. The picture of a sailing ship listing badly on the wall caught her eye; the legend read, _"Smooth Seas do not make good sailors."_ Preaching to the choir there, warden…

She didn't know how long she'd been asleep, but when Carol felt someone's eyes on her, she came fully awake and whipped out her new knife, the one with the brass knuckles that Daryl had brought back from his last run for her. Strong hands caught hers in a vice grip, stopping the forward motion of the blade inches from his surprised face.

"Jesus Carol!" Daryl exclaimed, wide eyed, kneeling beside her on the floor.

"I fell asleep." She said unnecessarily.

"You gonna drop the knife?"

"You ever gonna kiss me?"

"You gonna stab me if'n I don't?"

"Maybe." she said, exasperated with him. The hands already gripping hers tightly squeezed until she was forced to drop the knife, gasping a little at the amount of force he used and then he hauled her roughly forward until her face was so close that his whiskers brushed against her chin.

"Be sure you want this—I don't know if I can do gentle...'n you're the gentle kind." Daryl grated out his warning, closing his eyes, leaning into her, so close he could smell her hair, her skin and he groaned with barely suppressed desire.

"You're gentle with Judith." she reminded him in a whisper, because he _was_ careful with the baby, mindful of her soft spot, her weak neck, her smallness.

"Thas different. She's a baby...I'm takin' care of her..." he murmured, shaking now.

"Daryl, _look_ at me." she ordered quietly and he slowly brought his head up so he could look into her eyes. "Let me take care of _you." _she asked. Daryl looked genuinely puzzled.

"_You do_—every day—you make sure I got clean clothes, enough to eat, someone to talk to 'bout how the damn Woodies drove me nuts at first, ...'bout Merle...ev'rything." he said sincerely.

Carol was touched—she really did matter to him, she'd made a difference in his life.

"Could do without so much a your smart mouth sometimes—you got enough sass in you to drive a man crazy." he squinted at her, staring at her mouth. Carol leaned back, using her lower position on the couch and his grip on her hands to jerk him forward, towards her, surprising him, and he came down on top of her, releasing her hands so he could brace himself above her.

Carol smiled knowingly as she felt his belly and hips settle against hers, the evidence of his arousal all too apparent. Either that or he was still wearing his knife...she let her legs fall open to cradle his body up tightly against hers.

"Where'd you go?" she asked him, reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes, "Before? When my smart mouth chased you away?" in response he reached into his back pocket and pulled out several small circular foil wrapped packages and showed them to her. Carol blinked and swallowed. _"Oh."_

"Had ta go all the way over to C block—got stopped three times by people who wanted to ask me stupid questions," he told her matter of factly, like they were having a public conversation in the mess or on work detail, while all the while he was rubbing himself against her, his hips sliding slightly up and back, the delicious friction making her mouth come open in a panting breath. Carol moaned, biting the side of her lip.

_"If you don't kiss me now, Dixon, I'm going for my knife..." _she warned and he actually chuckled.

"Guess it's one way to shut up that smart mouth." he said leaning forward to put his weight on his forearms, bringing his face, his lips to hers. "First kiss." he observed, so close now they shared their breath. His was tinged with cinnamon. He had also brushed his teeth while he'd been gone and the thoughtful sweetness of that brought tears to her eyes.

"I kissed you once." she reminded him.

"I remember." and then his lips moved to her forehead, to the exact spot where she'd pressed a kiss to his in thanks for his efforts to find her daughter. "You saw them and you did it anyway." He said, his mouth warm against her temple. "I never thanked you for that."

"Everyone has scars Daryl—some of us wear them outside _and_ in. We're both stronger now." Carol told him. "We don't have to be afraid of being happy."

_"I want to make you happy." _he whispered, working his way over her cheek with light kisses until he reached her mouth. As soon as their lips touched, all bets were off. Their first kiss was pure passion, years of pent up desire given sway all in a rush, grasping grabbing groaning, tongues tangling, his hands under her shirt to find her breasts, hers ripping open the snaps of his vest to find the buttons of his sleeveless shirt, pushing them both off of his shoulders as he briefly lifted up and away from her to shrug it off, tossing it to the floor. She used the same moment to pull her shirt up and over her head and when he came back to her he paused to take her in—her long limbs and swan neck above her torso, the gentle curves of her creamy breasts with tight pink nipples begging to be kissed, her narrow waist—she was beautiful.

Carol raised her hand to her abdomen, brushing over a jagged red line of raised tissue and then turned slightly away so he could see her back as well; the marks left by red hot cigarettes held to her flesh.

"_Everyone has scars."_ she'd just said it. He'd known she would, without ever having seen them. She couldn't have lived with her bastard of a husband all those years without acquiring them.

_God,_ Daryl thought_, I don't want to hurt her._ That was his biggest fear. Why he'd shied away from having relationships, children of his own. Half of him was his father, and he knew he had that violence in him, had seen it in Merle, didn't know what would trigger it against someone he loved. _If I love her, I'll hurt her._ That had kept him away from Carol for two years. _"... some of us wear them outside __and__ in..."_

Overwhelmed with the weight of his fears, he'd pushed her away, the distance between them ebbing and flowing depending on the events of the world around them. When she was in danger he was always there, but when she needed him to be more than a white knight, to be the _hero_ of her God damn romance novel, he couldn't. Sometimes he would physically leave on hunts or runs, other times he would just avoid her for days or weeks at a time, spend his free time with one of the others, go hunting for the Governor with Michonne, build pens with Rick, give shooting lessons to Tyreese or help Hershel set up the infirmary.

He knew it hurt her, to see him head off, leave with the barest of goodbyes, but sometimes it was just too much—the need to _have_ her, to _take_ her whether that's what she really wanted or not—and he didn't trust himself. Sex for him had always been quick, down and dirty, no romance, just a physical merging of two willing bodies for as long as it took to get off. It was fucking, plain and simple. That wasn't what she needed from him….it wasn't what he wanted for her. Carol was the kind of woman a man _made love_ _to._

Carol watched the play of expressions pass over his face, first understanding and sadness for what she'd endured, then desire for her as a woman, but also something that she'd glimpsed from him before when she'd caught him staring: fear. _"Be sure you want this—I don't know if I can do gentle..."_ he'd said. She'd never had gentle before, could this be any different? She'd been numb, had felt nothing when Ed had used her, no pain, no pleasure, nothing but the wish for it to be over as quickly as possible. With Daryl? With Daryl she felt like every sense she had came to full alert whenever he walked into the room. To have him this close, touching her, kissing her? She was on fire.

"_I want to make you happy."_ Daryl whispered again, asking her permission, making it her decision to continue or not. Wide eyed, she nodded her assent. _"Show me how?"_ he asked. Carol tilted her head at him, surprised. He gave her that small smile again, his face more open and trusting than she'd ever seen it. "I mean how _you_ like it." He assured her hastily; worried she'd think him a fool or worse, a damn _virgin._

"No patented Dixon moves you want to try out on me?" she teased lightly.

"Only moves I got came from watchin' Merle." He admitted. His brother had very few inhibitions about sex, especially when he was drunk or high, which he'd been most of the time. Daryl had been woken by or walked in on all manner of scenes over the years, had even been invited to participate in a few…but that wasn't the way he thought about it with her, with his Carol. With her there was an emotional connection he'd never felt for anyone else in his life. He wanted to show her how much she meant to him.

"Probably still better than Ed's…" Carol said quietly. Daryl sighed and tentatively reached out his right hand to cup her cheek and she closed her eyes and leaned in to it.

"Never hurt you like that." Daryl vowed, both to her and himself.

"I know. I trust you Daryl—for some reason I always have." She admitted, looking up at him. And that meant more to him than any strident declaration of undying love ever could. His rough looks and ways had more often than not intimidated and frightened or caused people to dismiss him out of hand as a lazy loud mouthed redneck. She saw through that façade to the scared little boy watching his father take his frustrations out on his mother and then turn it on his children, and she didn't pity him for it, she just _knew _him; felt who he was better than anyone ever had.

Daryl let his hand slide to her nape and he leaned forward, touching his lips to hers. She reached out her right hand to his left and pulled it to her bared breast and he inhaled sharply when he felt her nipple peak against his palm and she took advantage of that gasp to let her tongue push forward into his mouth, deepening the kiss. That slow movement of his hips against her began again, the ridge of his hard cock digging into her even through her khakis and she squirmed and shifted, widening her legs and lifting her ass so his motions dragged against just the_ right_ place, and she moaned as the sensitive nerves in the swollen tissues activated, spreading tingling warmth up into her belly. _God, it felt good… _

His mouth left hers and replaced his hand at her breast, latching on and sucking down hard on the nipple, at the same instant bucking hard against her with his hips, pumping with abandon, making her _scream_ at the sudden sharp almost painful combination of sensations that threw her into a totally unexpected orgasm. And then he was gone—off of the couch and on his ass on the floor, looking up at her fearfully.

"_I'm sorry!" _he said, berating himself—he'd lost control so quickly—what was wrong with him? One kiss and he was scaring and overwhelming her by dry humping her like there was no tomorrow—making her scream … god he was such an _asshole._

"You're apologizing?" she gasped incredulously, "For making me _come_?" she laughed as she laid there panting, her chest and cheeks blush pink.

"I… I _did_?" he said blinking owlishly at her. Other women he'd been with had worn him out trying to find just the right place to touch or rub or lick or kiss to get them off.

"Yeah, you did." she sighed. What she didn't tell him was that it was the first orgasm that she'd ever had that wasn't self-induced. A little Daryl Dixon was_ way_ better than her long lamented vibrator.

"_Shit."_ He murmured, not knowing whether he was more impressed with her or with himself.

With much more confidence, Daryl sat back up and knelt in front of her, both of them leaning in to share a kiss.

"Come're." Daryl said, his hands going to her knees so he could slide her into a sitting position in front of him. Reaching down, he unhooked her pants and shimmied them down off of her hips, snagging her panties right along with them. He pulled them off of her feet and keeping his eyes on hers, hooked his index finger in the lace of her panties at the leg and raised them to his face, inhaling deeply. Carol blushed.

_"Sweet."_ He said and stuffed them in his back pants pocket, like he usually wore his red bandana; making her giggle and then he pushed her knees apart, letting his rough skinned hands slide up and back along the satin soft insides of her thighs. He leaned forward and placed a single wet kiss to the side of her knee, his bearded chin and moustache scraping shivers over the skin and then he looked up at her.

"This ok?" he asked as his questing wonderfully calloused fingers moved higher, brushing against her center. Carol gave a little whimper and then he kissed the inside of the other knee.

"I don't know…" she said, sounding nervous again. His head came up at that, frowning.

"Don't know?"

"Um—I've never—no one's ever…" she said, trembling in anticipation.

"Oh now darlin' that's just a cryin' shame!" he drawled, grinning at her. _As responsive as she was? _He thought, _damn_ _this was going to be good._ "Jus' don't scream _too_ loud or the rest of 'em will _know_ you're gettin' eaten alive." he admonished her, dragging her to the edge of the couch cushion, pulling her thighs wide over his broad shoulders.

"You did _not_ just go there." She giggled, his teasing quip surprising her.

_"Here?"_ he breathed and used his big thumbs to open her petal softness for his tongue, tasting the sweet silky wetness from her so recent climax. The pressure on his cock grew insistent, distracting him and so he reached down and squeezed it back, slowing his response to her, trying to give him time to give her more pleasure before he sought his own.

Carol felt his talented tongue circle and flutter against her, felt the waves of sensation rising again in the pit of her belly. She slitted her eyes open and looked down—the sight of his head with its long dark unruly hair moving rhythmically there at the junction of her thighs was the sexiest thing she had ever seen. She moaned and began shifting her hips up and back with the motions of his mouth on her and he responded by putting his hands on her hips and sliding her even closer, spreading her wider so he had total access to her core. As if working her clit with his lips and tongue wasn't enough, he ran one finger through her wetness and found her opening, pushing inside. Her hands came up as she arched against him, crying out, fisting her fingers in his hair, pulling it hard as she begged him to never stop.

Her first orgasm had been a delicious release. This one was an uncontrollable building wave—the tsunami of climaxes. He felt it rise in the way her thighs trembled, the gush of fluids against his tongue, the way her abs tensed and fluttered under the hand he had spread over her belly to hold her still as she moved more violently against him, her back arching, her breath quickening, low moans and cries issuing from her throat along with his name as a litany. He slowed down, drawing it out for her, making it good, making her wait for it, knowing that would heighten it even more.

"_Daryl_—oh god Daryl _please, Daryl!"_ she begged, and so he quickened again and then she was screaming, gasping for air as it hit.

"It may take me awhile, but I_ do_ finally get around to doin' what you ask." Daryl smirked, wiping his right hand down over his moustache, mouth and chin as he looked up at her sated flushed face.

Their first night here at the prison, _"I'll go down first."_ The time she had told him he was being romantic and then shocked him even more by inviting him to screw around. Hell, if he'd a known it would be like this he'd have taken her up on it a long time ago.

"You—you're...you are _really_ good at that." she finally said when she could catch her breath. He released his hold on her and joined her on the couch. They stretched out side by side and he carefully put his arms around her, liking the softness of her pressed against him.

"No batteries required." he winked at her.

Carol's eyes went wide. There was literally no one alive who could attest to that conversation at the quarry—how on earth did he know about it?

"Andrea told Michonne. Michonne told me last time we were out lookin' for Blake." Daryl said "She was gonna bring you back one as a gift."

"And she told you, _why_?" Carol was mortified.

"Asked if I was ever gonna man up." Daryl snorted, remembering it. Blunt should be Michonne's middle name. What he didn't tell the woman in front of him was the reason the topic had come up at all was that the swordswoman had basically made a pass at him and when he'd refused, she'd asked if it was because of Carol.

"And what did you tell her?" Carol asked, curious. The two warriors' last trip together had been almost five months ago.

"She ever give you one?" Daryl asked her.

"Well..._no_." Carol admitted, and he merely raised an eyebrow at her. He felt her hands move to caress his back, tracing the patterns of his scars with gentle fingers. Daryl stiffened, but didn't pull away. If anyone else had taken such a liberty he'd've been out the door. Her hands drifted lower, finding the curve of his ass, making him shift his hips forward. He felt her fingers dig into his pocket, dragging out one of the packets he'd shown her earlier and bringing it to her mouth. She bit down on the edge, tearing it open.

"Time to man up." she told him, raising an eyebrow in return.

* * *

Daryl knew the grammar of sex, the etiquette, the Golden Rule applied, _do unto others_...but this was a deeper more complete translation of the syntax—new idioms for tenderness he'd never learned. As he moved with her he stared deeply into her eyes, crystal blue, her serene expression at odds with the way her hands gripped his biceps, her fingers digging in deep. He was gritting his teeth, fighting himself to take it slow, knowing how small she was, how tight from his earlier use of his fingers on her. He'd barely pushed inside when she had tensed, gasping at his size and he'd done his best to relax her with more kisses and play at her breasts with his hands and mouth.

"You doin' ok?" he asked softly and then started to quietly panic when her mouth trembled and a single tear spilled over and ran down her cheek. _"Shit—I'm sorry—I—"_ He started to lift himself off of her, but she wrapped her legs around him to hold him in place, realizing she needed to explain herself to him.

"Daryl—stop—it's ok—I'm fine." she said, raising her hand to his cheek, using her thumb to circle the beauty mark next to his mouth that softened his scowls and highlighted his grins.

"You're _cryin'._" he protested. Women's tears undid him, always had. One of his first memories was his momma holding him, rockin' him while she cried.

"Sometimes tears are because there's too much joy, Daryl." she told him, smiling through her tears. There was an inner well of gentle sweetness in him that she'd always suspected. Despite his warning that he "didn't know if he can do gentle..."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure." she nodded, moving both of her hands to the small of his back, feeling the muscles bunched tense there from his efforts at control, and then she slid them down to caress his firm ass. He groaned at the intimate touch and his head fell to the crook of her neck and shoulder, his mouth opening over her rapidly beating pulse point there.

_"Just do it, Daryl,"_ she urged in a whisper, digging her fingers in_, _pulling him forward, _"Just love me."_ and he was gone, over the edge, thrusting inside her to the hilt.

* * *

The second time was on the warden's desk, laughing as they knocked off the computer and coffee cup, which amazingly didn't break, feeling like a couple of kids playing hooky from real life, sneaking into the principal or Dean's office for a quickie to protest authority. That as members of the council they_ were_ the authority was the unspoken irony. After, they fell asleep on the couch, sated, the expression on his face the most contented Carol had ever seen.

When she awoke again he was already dressed in his jeans and boots, standing at the window, looking out to the prison yard, just as he had earlier in the afternoon. She pulled on his shirt and stood, moving to embrace him, but he stepped back, back in his place, back to the wall, standing halfway to the door.

"Daryl?" she asked, uneasy when he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"_Can't..._can't lose anyone else... get too close and it all falls apart—you know that—Merle... Andrea... Lori...T...Dale..._Sophia_...it's what happens if you let someone in and then they're _gone_—don't you see that?" he said haltingly.

"So your answer is to just shut yourself down—never care for anyone again? Never _love _anyone?" she railed at him. They had a chance for something here, happiness for as long as it lasted, as long as _they_ lasted. She pushed him back hard against the wall, coming in close, taking his face in her hands and forcing it down to hers. He resisted at first, but she persisted until she was kissing him with so much longing tender passion that he groaned and returned it.

It wasn't that he didn't _want_ her, _need _her, he was trying to do the right thing, protect her from another loss...he felt the tears on her cheeks...

_"Don't..."_ he whispered, hating that he was hurting her and then he deepened the kiss, turning them so she was pressed back to the wall. Carol whimpered and her hands moved swiftly to unbuckle his belt, wrench open his fly and find his waiting hardness. As she stroked him with her small strong hand he felt as if his entire world had shrunk down to this room, this day, this moment, the undeniable need to be with her one last time the most important thing he had ever had to do. Without taking his mouth from hers, he just lifted her up, wrapped her long legs around his waist and this time there was no hesitation—like a bolt shot true to target he sheathed himself inside her in one forceful thrust. _This time_ was different, desperate, glorious...sad. _This time_ he was trying to say goodbye and she was trying to tell him she loved him without saying the words. _This time_...the _third_ time...was the time they made Rose.

* * *

"Wednesday's child is full of woe..." Daryl intoned, looking pensive.

"Wednesday was the day she was _conceived,_ the poem is for the day you're _born_." Carol said, unbuttoning her blouse and holding out her hands to him, asking for the baby. Daryl carefully handed her over and watched, fascinated, as Carol opened her blouse, baring her right breast and their daughter's little rosebud mouth latched on and suckled contently. He couldn't stop himself from reaching out his hand, brushing Rose's pink downy cheek with the back of his index finger, letting it linger.

"She's as beautiful as her momma." Daryl said softly, and then his finger lightly traced the curve of Carol's breast next to the child's cheek.

"Daryl—I don't think—" she began, looking up at him, blushing, unsure of his intent.

"Thas right—don't think..." he said, nodding, "We always over think this..._us._" and then he leaned down and touched his lips to hers.

* * *

"_**What if you wind up out there, alone? Are you going to give up just because you're feeling bad?"**_

"_**You give sanctuary to the lost, feed the hungry—you're just gonna have to get used to the love."**_

_**-Carol Peletier, S4 TWD, "30 Days without an Accident"**_


	4. Chapter 4: Paterfamilias and Consilium

_**Daryl tries to get back in Carol's good graces while bonding with his daughter and finding his place in the new community. The arrival of an old friend also prompts a flashback to the day Daryl learned of Carol's banishment and will complicate all of their lives.**_

_**This is a long one, folks! It needed to accomplish a lot. Thanks for reading, following, favoriting and of course reviewing.**_

* * *

_**Paterfamilias and Consilium**_

"Papa?"

"Yeah lil'bit?"

"Izzat boy still dere?"

"That's what we're gonna go check, punkin."

"_Papa!_ My name _Wose_ _Disson_, not punkin!" the little girl put her hands over her father's eyes to make him stop walking, imperious on her high perch riding his shoulders.

"Yes, m'am, pardon _me."_ Daryl said solemnly.

"No 'm'am,' _Wose!"_ the little girl said crossly.

"Rosie Posie?" Daryl asked.

"O-tay—Wosie Posie." she agreed and pulled her hands away from his eyes and instead petted the whiskers on his jaws. "Papa?" she asked.

"What honey—I mean _Rosie Posie_?" Daryl said as he resumed his stride, heading for the front gates of the fort.

"Why you face so skwatchy?"

"Thas just my scraggly old beard. You don' like it?"

"Ouchy on Wose face...on _mama_ face."

"Think so?" Daryl mused. He hadn't had any complaints from the woman in question and she was as up front as her daughter when it came to speaking her mind. In the last year and a half he'd had his work cut out for him just to hold his own with the two of them.

* * *

After his sudden arrival Carol had been wary of just automatically accepting the idea that he was here to stay. He knew he had hurt her deeply after he'd abruptly cut off what they had begun in the warden's office that day, telling himself that he was protecting her. The truth was he had been protecting himself.

When Rick had told him that she was gone Daryl had felt curiously numb, empty. He wasn't sure where to go or what to do, torn between his duty to Rick and the rest of the make-shift family they'd come to be and the woman who had been the first to make him feel a connection to anyone other than his brother.

It had been Hershel who had found him, in Carol's cell, sitting on the floor, his head in his hands, all of her things pulled out of the drawers and off the shelves, scattered all around him as if they might give him some clue as to where she would go.

"Son?" Hershel said from the doorway.

_"Ain't yer son."_ Daryl growled bitterly.

"I'd be proud if you were." Hershel said sincerely.

"Yeah, well, I just meant yer a better man than my bastard of a father ever thought a bein'..." Daryl said in apology.

"I'll tell you about my daddy sometime if we're tradin' American horror stories." Hershel snorted and Daryl's head came up. "Let's just say I understand you ..._you_ _and_ _Carol _better than you know."

Daryl's mouth thinned into a horizontal slash with down turned corners and then he nodded in understanding.

"You thinkin' a leavin' us?" Hershel ventured.

Daryl ran his hands through his long hair, pushing it back off of his forehead.

"He left her out there, _alone_."

"She killed two people." Hershel said.

"After what you went through last night you seriously think they had _any _sorta chance?" Daryl asked, "They were the first to show symptoms—has anyone who got sick that fast made it?"

Hershel looked uncomfortable. It had been a long night and day. He'd just come in from helping Michonne burn bodies and Rick had asked him to look in on Daryl after he checked in with Bob and Maggie. When he hadn't found the tracker in his cell he'd figured this was where he'd be.

"We need you _here_, Daryl." Hershel said, sidestepping Daryl's question. He wished with all his heart that Carol had taken the time to either talk to him or Dr. S or the Council before she'd acted, but it was all water under the bridge now.

"We need _her _here." Daryl whispered, as if saying it out loud was too painful.

"Rick won't allow that." Hershel said sadly. Daryl's face darkened.

"He back to being in charge? I don't remember voting to disband the council." Rick's highhandedness in abandoning Carol was testing every bond of loyalty the two men had built up since Atlanta. When he'd finally found Rick this morning to ask where Carol was, at first he couldn't believe what he was hearing—not only had Carol admitted to the deaths, but Rick had taken her on a run and left her there... Then Rick had asked for Daryl's back up when he told Tyreese; wanted Daryl to publically agree with the decision and tell the big man that he had the rest of the council's support so Ty wouldn't go after her_. "I need you on this."_ Rick had pleaded. "_It's how we protect her from him."_

Daryl felt that Rick was playing so many head games right now he couldn't see straight.

"What council? You 'n me—_we're_ the council now.' Hershel reminded his younger friend.

"Sasha and Glenn are gonna be_ fine_." Daryl said stubbornly.

"They're still both very sick. And some of the rest of us may still become symptomatic before this thing burns itself out. We need every able bodied person we have to care for the sick and keep this place running." Hershel reasoned.

"So kickin' out the woman who _ran_ this place like a well oiled machine and had medical know how to boot made a whole _shitload _a sense, now, did it?" Daryl said in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You know Rick has always worked from his gut—he did what he thought he had to protect this place—to protect his children." Hershel said reasonably.

"Carol loves those kids like they were her own!" Daryl protested. If there was one thing he never doubted about Carol was her fierce need to protect all of the children...it was reason she had done what she had done.

"Like I said—his gut overrules his head sometimes and being a good father is what he's been concentrating on for a while now—all he saw was that she ended two of our own and he couldn't trust that she wouldn't do it again. Most times he gave someone a second chance it came back and bit him on the ass." Hershel reminded him with an emphatic nod of his grey head.

"Shane killed Otis."

"And then Randall, and then he tried to kill Rick. And that was a man he'd counted as a brother."

"Carol ain't like Shane was—he wanted Rick outa the way so he could have Lori n' Carl n' lil'ass kicker." Daryl had actually been one of the first to figure out the truth about Otis' death and Shane's real motivations.

"And control of the group..." Hershel mused and then waited. He watched Daryl's nimble mind come to the same conclusion he had.

"You think Rick was _threatened _by Carol?"

"Maybe not consciously—but she'd stepped up, just like you—running the show, on the council, organizing the food, the work, while he stepped back. What she did with Karen and David? That kind of hard decision? That was something a_ leader_ would do..." Hershel let his statement linger in the air.

Daryl picked up Carol's schedule folder, the neat grids listing everyone's duties by day and time, remembering how she'd scheduled everything, including time alone with him...and how he'd so spectacularly fucked it all up afterwards by not just pushing but _shoving_ her away from him.

She'd gotten too close, under his skin to the point where he couldn't imagine his life without her and so to prove to himself that he _could_, he'd thrown away what they had started that day, with both hands.

With her usual stoic calm Carol had never mentioned that day again. If there was an icy core to her dealings with him no one but he would've noticed it. She'd accepted it when he distanced himself physically by leaving the next day on a three day hunt and emotionally by never being alone with her again.

In front of others she was friendly and showed concern for his well being, but the banter, the light teasing they had shared vanished for a time. At odd moments he'd flash on her hands pulling his hair, her taste on his tongue, his name on her lips in that ragged breathless voice as he made her come, over and over, and he'd find himself staring at her intently from across the room, wondering if she ever thought of that day, relived it until she was aching...or if it was just him who enjoyed the masochistic torment of it.

And then the fences had almost gone down. It was the day he'd gotten back from a hunt, arriving at the gate with a string of wild geese fastened to the saddlebags. There was a huge build up around the new protected entrance. Carol had been manning the pulley, waiting for him he thought, and he had barely gotten inside, inadvertently bringing three geeks along. He'd had to ditch the bike when the biggest one, its skeletonized face snapping at the birds, had latched itself onto the rear tire. The other two double teamed him, pulling him off of the Triumph while he tried to reach his buck knife.

Two shots rang out in quick succession and their skulls splattered pink and black all over him. When he looked up he saw a steely eyed Carol, rifle in her hands, looking like Mother Courage out to save her man. She took aim and another shot went into the head of the third walker and it dropped as well, draped over the back of the bike.

_"You okl?"_ she yelled, sounding angry.

_"Thanks."_ he yelled back above the moaning groaning din of the multitude of the dead all around them.

"_Then get your ass in here—we're about to lose the fence by Tower 3!"_ she yelled impatiently, shouldering the gun and pulling out the keys to unlock the inner gate. He pushed the headless corpses off of him and started to rise, and then there was her hand, held out to help pull him up. It was the first time they'd touched since that afternoon and evening in the warden's office. He accepted the outstretched hand, glad of its small strong warmth, and had held on, remembering her making the same gesture after Merle's death; what a lifetime ago that seemed.

As Daryl stood he looked into her eyes, worried he'd see the same anger that he'd heard in her voice, but instead there was relief and tears and without thinking, he pulled her into a brief hug, reassuring them both that he was back, that he was ok.

"Tower 3?" he said gruffly as he released her and Carol nodded and turned, giving his hand a slight squeeze as she let it go. Daryl swung his crossbow around to the front and followed her through the gate, doing what they needed to do to keep their home safe.

After that things were better between them, more like they had been when they first arrived at the prison. They were friends who cared deeply about one another, and if sometimes she edged closer to something else, teasing him or flirting with silly pet names, he'd give his usual response, a plea for her to desist, S_top_, drawn out to a put upon _"Staahp."_

It was obvious to everyone around them that he cared for her, looked to her for everything from clues in dealing with the newcomers to her take on Council business, and they wondered what kept them from becoming something more. Maybe someday, he'd thought, if they both lived long enough, they could be. Maybe if he had enough time to deal with his damaged soul and fear of abandonment, time to silence the demons that told him he was and always would be his daddy's son...but that was the hell of it. There was never enough time.

And now she was gone.

Daryl angrily threw the folder against the wall, scattering the papers within around them like the terrible white rain from offices in the towers on 9/11, useless now that the person who had worked so hard to create them was gone. Hershel waited until all of them had fallen and then he came into the cell, sat behind Daryl on Carol's bunk and put his hand on the tracker's shoulder. It spoke to his need for comfort that Daryl didn't just shrug it off.

"We're weaker with her gone." Daryl said, unknowingly echoing Beth's words to Carol about him when he'd left with his brother after Woodbury.

"I know Daryl; I'm sorry she's gone," Hershel said earnestly, "And I know your first instinct is to go after her, but right now _we can't survive without you_. If anyone else gets sick, or if God forbid the Governor comes back, _we need you here_."

"Rick send you in here to say that?" Daryl said cynically. He knew how effectively the former sheriff could delegate to get everyone on board with his plans.

"He asked me to check on you." Hershel said evenly.

"He needs to keep outa my way." Daryl said in a cold voice. Rick had burned a lot of bridges with him today. "You tell him that."

"That mean you're staying?" Hershel asked, trying to keep the hopefulness out of his voice.

"Just til things settle down—Glenn and Sasha get back on their feet I'm gone."

"She's strong Daryl. She doesn't need you to ride to her rescue anymore. Carol can take care of herself." Hershel assured him, giving his shoulder a squeeze. This time Daryl reacted more violently, jerking away from the older man's grip, standing and then in one smooth lethal motion, turning to him and leaning over, getting in his face.

"_No one_ can do it alone..." Daryl growled. "Never could." He stabbed his finger into Hershel's chest, "Now put that bible a yours to good use and pray I find her alive." Daryl stalked out of the cell.

* * *

It had been a long four months after that until he'd been able to leave, and he had spent another nine searching until he found her here north of Atlanta. In that time she'd proved the axiom he'd told Hershel. She hadn't done it alone. She'd found others, built this community from scratch, had his child, and believed she'd never see him again.

When he'd shown up here at Fort Dixon, Daryl had to earn his place, the same as any other newcomer. He'd bunked with the first man he'd met, the gatekeeper, Abraham, a gruff amiable man with a quick sense of humor and an admitted hankering for the woman he knew as Lori Dixon. When she had basically announced to the camp at large that Daryl was Rose's father and Sam had added that they shared the same last name, everyone assumed Lori's long lost husband had arrived. With that little bit of information people spun some dramatic romantic tale of separation and loss, an epic love story of his search for her and his unborn child in the walker apocalypse. Everyone was a bit confused when she didn't welcome him into her home with open arms.

Sara knew better. Lori had confided to Sara that the father was someone she'd loved but was unable to be with. She knew that the handsome biker had no knowledge of the child until Lori had asked her to hand Rose to him that first day. She also knew that although her friend was obviously in love with him, Lori didn't trust that Daryl would stay.

Sara watched as he worked to prove to the Doc that he deserved a second chance. He was truly wonderful with Rose. Sara had been a nurse midwife in training before the Turn. She had spent every waking hour with mothers, fathers and infants and she had never seen a man so besotted with a child. He spent as much time as possible with her, taking her in the afternoons so her momma could nap, going on runs to ransack every pediatric ward he could find to look for the usual infant vaccines so she would be protected, whittled her an entire Noah's ark of animal pairs to play with, all on top of his assigned duties for the community.

After he had been there a month, he went before the council to find out if his petition for citizenship had been approved. When he first arrived, he'd been asked what he could do for them that would warrant approval of his citizenship petition. Daryl had given a crossbow demonstration that would've done Katniss, Robin Hood, Legolas and Hawkeye proud, followed by knife throwing, hand to hand combat, and then breaking down and rebuilding of every pistol, rifle and shotgun they put in front of him before he precision fired them. As a further demonstration, the day of his petition approval hearing with the council, he'd left in the morning and came back in the afternoon carrying a field dressed doe over his shoulders.

Carol had been standing on the ramparts, watching the forest for him when he'd come jogging out of the trees with the deer, a couple of walkers trailing behind him. Taking careful aim with her rifle, Carol dropped them both before they got within ten feet of Daryl, who looked up to see where the shots had originated.

_"Thanks sweetheart!"_ he grinned, squinting up at her behind his fringe of dark bangs as he passed over the drawbridge below her.

_"No problem, Pookie."_ Carol called down nonchalantly, giving him a cocky salute, and he knew he was back in her good graces, at least a little.

* * *

After the feast two nights later celebrating the approval of his citizenship, she let him walk her home. They stood on the front porch of her cabin, Daryl carrying Rose, who had fallen asleep at the party. Carol looked down at the baby, covered by her yellow blanket, so peaceful.

"She looks so much like Sophia at that age." Carol said, wishing she still had a photo of her first child that she could someday show to her sister.

"Yeah?" Daryl asked. Carol so seldom said her dead child's name he wondered at her mood tonight. Carol nodded yes.

"Same coloring, pale and pink cheeked, red blonde hair...she has your eyes though." Not Sophia's green or her own lighter blue, but the darker sky blue of Daryl's.

"You named her...after the flower?" Daryl asked, unsure of what exactly he was asking. In answer Carol lifted the handmade baby blanket off of the baby and turned it over.

"Sara made this for her—she used to do it for all the babies she delivered." Carol told him. There, carefully stitched into the quilted yellow fleece in a pretty script was the name "Cherokee Rose Dixon."

Daryl looked at her questioningly.

"I think that was the day I started to fall in love with you." she said simply. The day he'd so surprised her by bringing her a flower and telling her a sad but hopeful story.

Daryl sighed and his mouth turned up on one side and then he tilted his head and leaned forward, over the baby he held so carefully, towards Carol, tentatively, still even after four weeks a bit unsure of his welcome. Carol slowly leaned forward as well, rising up on her toes to match his height better, putting her hands on his forearms to brace her. Just as their lips touched, little Miss Cherokee Rose awoke and let out a loud unhappy hungry wail.

They pulled apart, Carol laughing ruefully.

"Thought you liked your papa better than this, lil' bit." Daryl admonished his daughter, bouncing her a little to try to quell her cries. At the sound of his voice the baby's head turned and she seemed to focus on him, and she hiccuped, her cries slowing.

"She's just hungry, Daryl. I need to feed her." Carol held out her hands to take the child from him, but he didn't immediately hand her over.

_"Can I...can I watch?"_ he asked haltingly, sounding shy. From the first time it had happened, he found he craved the intimacy of watching her nurse their daughter. He wasn't sure if he was developing a weird fetish, but he thought it was one of the sexiest things he'd ever seen. Carol had no inhibitions about it and a few times when he'd stopped by in the early afternoon to pick up Rose she'd been sitting on the porch swing in front of the cabin finishing up the baby's lunch and he'd waited quietly, watching.

"Are you asking to come inside?" she asked quietly and Daryl nodded yes. Carol frowned at him and huffed out a little sigh. She didn't know if she was ready for anything more than the gentle kisses goodnight they had shared over the last month, each evening when he was in camp, when he would walk her home from dinner or sometimes even when he brought Rose home in the late afternoon. Then he always went back to his room at Abe's and she and Rose went into their cozy cottage. She was used to her privacy, her independence now. He was overwhelming, the way she felt about him could drown out everything else in her carefully ordered existence if she let it.

Daryl held his breath waiting for her to make up her mind. Over the last month he'd come to realize that despite his protest to Sam, from the moment he'd left the prison to look for her he had already decided. His parting words to Rick had said it all. She was his and he wasn't going to let her get away again.

Carol's eyes rose to his and the melting, pleading, totally sweet sexy look he gave her made her toes curl. _Damn him._

"Just until I'm done feeding her," Carol allowed, giving in to his puppy dog eyes just a little. Daryl grinned at her, ducking his head so she wouldn't see just how pleased he really was that she'd invited him in. Carol shook her head at him and turned to unlock the door.

"Night Lori…_Daryl_!" someone called from behind them and Carol froze with her hand on the doorknob. She turned back around and took Rose from Daryl, looking around his big body to see who it was.

"Oh—goodnight Sara." Carol said, blushing at the knowing look her nurse flashed her and bouncing the fussy baby a bit as she watched Sara walk on by.

"You know, they all know we had sex." Daryl said dryly once the other woman had disappeared into her nearby cabin. Carol looked aghast and then glared at him.

"They all know you live at Abraham's place!" she protested.

"Well, they know we did it at least _once."_ Daryl pointed at the evidence she held in her arms. "Should we tell them it was only three times?" he looked at her lazily from under his fringe of dark hair with a hint of a smile. _"In the same night."_ he added softly and the smile became a smirk.

"It could've been _every _night if you hadn't..." Carol began hotly, but stopped, her mouth going tight in a prim line as she pierced him with her laser sharp gaze drilling down into his soul.

_"Hadn't what Carol_?" he asked, raising his right hand to her soft cheek and lightly caressing its curve, "Hadn't been such a complete and utter coward?"

Carol frowned at him.

"Hadn't been too afraid to tell you that I love you?" He held her chin in his hand, "That I wanna make a _home _with you and Rose, here, or wherever you wanna be—doesn't matter as long as we're together?" He looked into her eyes for some reaction, for some sign that she was willing to listen, to discuss what he'd just said, but that same curious frown stayed on her features, her eyes troubled.

Carol lifted her hand to his and pulled it down and away from her face. Daryl sighed, knowing he was being dismissed. But then she held Rose up for him to take. Frowning, he did so, shifting the baby to cradle her in the crook of his left arm. Carol turned away from him and opened the door to her house and pushed it open. Then she turned back to face him and held out her right hand.

_"Welcome home, Daryl."_ she said softly, took his free hand in hers, gave him that small, resolved, sighing smile that he so loved and led him over the threshold.

* * *

That had been sixteen months ago.

Rose was now almost two years old and smart as a whip, very verbal and bossy, like her mother, Daryl thought, but never said, and had a scowl unmatched in the fort except by her father. Today they were on their way to the main gates where someone—a young man—claiming to know the Dixons had arrived this morning. Rose had heard her parents talking about it at breakfast and wanted to go see "that boy" for herself. He had been brought inside and disarmed, but refused to talk to anyone except Daryl.

As they rounded the corner Daryl could see a tall thin young man with shaggy brown hair facing away from him. As he watched, the kid turned and lifted a familiar battered cowboy hat to his head. When he came into full frontal view Daryl was shocked by the eye patch the boy wore over his right eye, and the angry red scar cutting across the cheek below it.

"Daryl? Is that really you?" The boy said happily, his voice much deeper than it had been that last time Daryl had seen him, over two years ago. He started towards him, but was restrained by Abraham and one of the younger guards, Adam.

"Papa? whozat boy?" Rose asked curiously, hanging onto Daryl's ears as they went closer.

"Hey Carl." Daryl said, grinning now too, holding out his hand for the younger Grimes to shake. _"You look like shit."_ Daryl laughed, pulling Carl into a fierce hug, with Rose clinging to his neck.

"Papa!" Rose said insistently and Daryl released his young friend. Carl looked up at the little girl and his face was a mixture of curiosity and sadness.

Daryl wondered to himself, _if Carl was here alone, where were Judith and Rick?_

"This is my daughter, Cherokee Rose Dixon." Daryl said proudly, swinging Rosie off of his shoulders and into his arms. Carl looked at the miniature version of Sophia and shook his head in amazement. Rose regarded him with great interest.

"Yours and C-" Carl started to ask.

"Lori—my wife_, Lori."_ Daryl said carefully. Carl looked confused.

"Are you a pai-woot?" Rose asked.

"_A parrot_?" Carl asked, looking even more confused.

"A _pirate." _Daryl clarified. "They learned this song in preschool, _The Pirates who don't do anything_," which unfortunately led to Rose belting the silly song out at the top of her lungs.

"From _Veggie Tales_—I remember." Carl's sad smile just about broke Daryl's heart.

"Daryl?" Abraham asked.

"I got this—he was part of our group down south. I'll vouch for him." Daryl said.

They headed for the cottage that had been Carol's first home there, now considerably larger after a two room addition had been constructed over the last six months to accommodate the growing family.

"Carol's gonna be happy to see you too." Daryl told the young man, now almost as tall as he was, though still thinner, looking only half grown and gangly.

"I hope so. I'm not exactly the bearer of glad tidings." Carl admitted, looking exhausted and so sad again that Daryl stopped him.

"What is it? I don't want her upset."

"I'd rather not have to tell it twice." Carl said curtly, ominously, as they arrived at the house. Daryl set Rose down and she scampered up the steps yelling to her mother that _"the boy was here and he had a big hat and was a pirate."_

Carol came to the door and flung it open, smiling broadly to see the son of her friends who she'd never expected to see again.

"Carl!" Carol said happily, holding out her arms to the young man.

Carl's mouth dropped open. He'd been surprised when he'd met Rose, but nothing had prepared him for the fact that Carol was hugely pregnant, like _ten_ _months_ pregnant! Carl looked over at Daryl, wide eyed.

"Twins. They run in the family." Daryl said, shrugging, looking both proud and a bit terrified.

_"Way to go Papa Dixon…"_ Carl said out of the side of his mouth, carefully stepping into Carol's embrace.

* * *

_**Notes:**__** In this reality Caryl are about 10 years younger than the actors portraying them, so Daryl is 34 & Carol is 38. Mainly because I want them to have babies LOL!**_

_**Rose calls Daryl "Papa" because Daryl didn't want to be called daddy, which is what he and Merle called their father.**_

_**Roses' silly song:  
**__**"We are the pirates, who don't do anything.  
We just stay home and lie around;  
and if you ask us to do anything  
we'll just tell you: we don't do anything."**_

_**Fatherhood (and parenthood in general) is an interesting subject on TWD. It shapes many of the character's choices and actions. As child abuse survivors, Daryl and Hershel have seen how badly a father can treat a child and had each in their own way made decisions to overcome or avoid the same. Hershel became the best father he could, the love Maggie and Beth have for him show that, as well as his fatherly relationships with Glenn, Rick, Lori and Daryl. Daryl had decided to completely avoid the issue by never becoming a parent, afraid he would be unable to break the pattern of abuse. Protecting T-Dog on the highway, looking for Sophia the way that he did, protecting and saving Carol and caring for Judith and Carl showed that Daryl was capable of stepping out of his father's shadow to become a nurturing paternal (in the good sense) figure. I like the idea that he would embrace actual parenthood because he has been gaining confidence through each of those interactions since Atlanta. Papa Daryl & Rose are fun to write.**_

_**The "Paterfamilias," was the name for the ancient Roman head of the family (literally 'family father') who takes a fatherly responsibility for the group as a whole and for each individual. He literally decides who lives & dies, where they live, who they marry and befriend etc. However his decisions should be obtained through counsel, consultation and consent within the familia—these were decisions by committee (consilium). These family consilia probably involved the most senior members of his own household—especially his wife—and if necessary his peers and seniors within his extended clan. (This is ideally how the group should work, but we see it break down in the Rictatorship.) **_

_**Rick steps away from his role as Paterfamilias when the Woodbury residents arrive, choosing instead to focus on his own two children more exclusively, (and both Judith & Carl DO seem to be thriving at the start of S4) until another crisis makes it necessary for Rick to step back in. However the first major decision he makes is rather more **__**paternalistic**__**, done without consultation with the consilium, to exile Carol, taking on authority he has not been officially granted. Unfortunately we have seen that none of the core group he told thus far has had much of a problem with it & Daryl has been clamoring for Rick to jump back in, go on runs etc., which may mean he will welcome it as well. Which will make me officially sad.**_


	5. Chapter 5: Placing Faith

_**Placing Faith**_

"_**I guess I just chose to put my faith elsewhere; my family mostly, my friends, my job. Thing is we ... I could use a little somethin' to help keep us goin'... I need some kinda acknowledgement—some indication I'm doin' the right thing—you don't know how hard that is to know... well, maybe you do."**_** -Rick Grimes, talking to God, S2, Ep. 1 "What Lies Ahead."**

* * *

"Nice bike you got there." Daryl said, admiring the KTM 250XS-F 4 stroke that was now parked next to Merle's Triumph in the lean-to they used as a garage next to the cottage.

"Thanks—gets me where I need to go—_fast_." Carl grinned. He'd a felt like such a bad ass wheeling through the countryside on the powerful big off road machine...no, truth be told, he'd felt like a bad ass because he was pretending to be _Daryl_. From the time he'd first see the tracker swing his leg over the seat of the chopper he'd wanted to learn to ride it. He remembered when he'd snuck out to Daryl's camp at the edge of the farm, grabbing onto the 'ape arm' handlebars and making motorcycle noises. God he'd been such a little shit—stealing Daryl's gun out of his saddlebags ... the walker in the swamp...Dale...

He'd known it was the wrong thing to do even as he'd done it, but he'd wanted so badly to be thought of as someone who contributed to the group; someone in whom his dad could place his faith like he did Shane or Daryl. They'd told him Dale's death hadn't been his fault, but he knew, and he carried that guilt with him. That was why he'd shot the boy who hadn't lowered his weapon fast enough, that was why he'd shot Morgan. Never again was someone going to die because he didn't act when he could have.

"It's so normal here." Carl said wistfully as he and Daryl went and sat on the cottage porch, slowly shifting the bench swing up and back with small movements of their feet as they watched the people come and go on the avenue in front of them. Everyone who walked by waved and called out friendly greetings to Daryl, asking after 'Lori' and Rose, some stopping to ask him a question or two and gain an introduction to his guest, to whom Daryl referred as his good friend.

"All _her_ doin'" Daryl said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder to the house where Carol was putting Rose down for the night, reading to calm her after the excitement of a visitor.

"You're happy here, aren't you Daryl?" Carl said as more a statement than a question.

"Didn't know I could be this happy." Daryl said with a bit of wonder, "Never thought I deserved it... never thought I deserved _her_."

Carl sighed. A domesticated Daryl Dixon was a sight to behold. He still had that slightly feral edge, but he looked more comfortable in his skin now. He would've though being saddled with kids would have had the hunter bridling to escape off into the forest the way he had done whenever things got too tense or tight at the farm or the prison, vanishing for days at a time. But the man who'd strode up to him with the little girl riding his shoulders earlier today was a contented man.

Did he have any right to ask Daryl to leave all this?

* * *

"So when he said he'd been trading at Fort Dixon I took the chance that it was you." Carl said as they sat down at the dinner table, explaining how he'd come to be so far from the place they'd last known the group to be, the prison.

"And how long have you been on the road?" Carol asked, handing him the plate of fresh baked sliced bread from the community ovens.

"Thank you." the young Grimes said, politely taking one slice, making Carol smile. His mother would be so proud of him if she could see him now, so grown up, almost a man. At 17 Carl looked much older than his years—the eye patch and scar that ran from his jaw to his forehead underneath it gave him a rakish dangerous air until he smiled, and then he looked like the same little boy she'd first met on the road to Atlanta.

"How long has Rick been gone?" Daryl asked, and Carol looked over at him with a concerned frown, silently warning him not to push Carl too much. He had started to tell them his news after they'd brought him inside the cottage, but before the boy had gotten out more than a few words he'd passed out, fainted dead away. When he came to he'd admitted that he hadn't eaten in days, so intent was he on finding Daryl.

Carol felt heart sick at what he'd told them.

It had happened three months ago. Raiders, a group of about twenty, armed to the teeth. They'd cut through the fences at night, taking out the sentries and letting the walkers in. Making their way into the C cell block they had taken the women and children they'd found there, including Judith and Beth. Rick, Carl and Michonne had been out on a several day long run, returning the next morning to chaos. Walkers were everywhere and they'd had to fight their way inside where they'd found that Glenn had been critically wounded in the fire fight and Maggie and Hershel had dragged him into Solitary, barricading themselves in. Tyreese and Sasha had gotten Luke and Mikka out, fleeing into the forest, but Lizzie had been taken by the interlopers as well.

"Dad kind of... well...remember when mom—when my mom..." Carl began, but ducked his head, hiding behind his long fringe of bangs. They all remembered when Rick had lost it, overwhelmed with Lori's death, communing with the dead on a disconnected phone, chasing his dead wife's ghost across the prison grounds.

"I know." Carol said, recalling how Rick had raved at Tyreese and his group.

"He's just…he's just not right. He took off on us … Michonne went after him. I haven't heard from either of them since. The rest of them, Tyreese, Sasha, Maggie, Glenn and the kids are set up in my hometown, south of Atlanta. Glenn's still pretty much laid up—he fell from the watch tower and broke both his left leg and arm badly and had a concussion—so they aren't real mobile right now."

"That's a long way from here, Carl." Daryl said, standing and going to the desk in the corner of the room. From the top he took an old AAA map of the southern states and unfolded it to show just their state, laying it on the table between him and Carl. Carl pointed out the tiny dot fairly close to the Alabama border, southwest of Columbus and Atlanta.

"It was a real small town—only about 800 people lived there before the Turn. We're living in the 1 block of downtown buildings, brick, mostly boarded up and a couple even have basements. Barricaded the streets like Woodbury…It's not ideal, not like what you have here, but it's better than the nothing left of the prison."

"Closest town to Fort Dixon is Fairmount," Carol said, peering down at the map, pointing to another small dot in the far northwest of the state.

"That's where I met the trader who told me about this place." Carl nodded. "All I knew is what dad said—that you'd gone north the day he…" Carl's voice trailed off guiltily. He'd been shocked when he'd found out what his father had done, and then guilty that he'd colored his dad's perception of Carol by telling about the knife training. The intervening three years at the prison and the two months he'd just spent on the road had added a lot to his perception of the world from what it was when he'd been a 14 year old.

"Your dad—Rick—he's...not right?" Daryl said haltingly. As much as Rick's treatment of Carol had angered him, the tracker still cared about the man who had become his best friend during the months between the farm and the prison. That Rick had descended into another fugue state from the loss of his daughter saddened him. He looked towards the room where Rose slept, knowing he'd move heaven and earth to find and get her back if anyone was ever stupid enough to try to take her and/or Carol.

"He went after them by himself—wouldn't listen to anybody. Hershel and Michonne tried to tell him he couldn't take on a big group like that alone, but he was out of his head—talking to my mom, telling her he'd find Judith, find everyone that he'd lost..." Carl looked guiltily at Carol, "...he said he knew where _everyone_ was, Sophia, Andrea—everyone he'd _left behind..."_

_ "Me."_ Carol said quietly, feeling an odd sense of pity for the man she had felt such anger towards for so long. Carl nodded. Daryl surprised her by reaching across the table and taking her hand.

"He don't know I already rectified that error a' judgment on his be-half." Daryl smiled that barely there smile he seemed to have reserved just for her and ran his thumb reassuringly over the back of her hand.

Carl smiled a similar small smile at the gesture. He wondered if the two of them would be together like this now if Carol had never left the prison. In the same way that Sophia's disappearance had drawn the group together, leading them to the farm after Otis had accidentally shot him, Carol's exile had pushed Daryl to finally face his feelings for her. He grimaced, reaching his hand down to that old wound in his side that still ached when he bent just wrong or tried to lift anything too heavy.

"So he's been gone the whole three months?" Carol asked, wondering how far Rick's wanderings might have taken him by now. Carl nodded yes.

"Took off the next night, left without a word in the middle of the night—knew we'd try to stop him if he waited, I guess. Michonne and I decided to take the group back to King County. Morgan, the man who saved my dad after he woke up in the hospital?" He looked at the couple seated at the table with him to see if they remembered hearing about the man and they nodded, "He had it fortified and had been clearing walkers for months. It was the only place we could think of that might be safe. We were lucky—he remembered me...probly 'coz I shot him..." at that admission both adults' brows went up. That was one detail about their run for ammo and supplies that Rick and Michonne hadn't disclosed.

"You _shot _him?" Carol said with a bit of incredulous anger, Rick's seeming double standard hitting home. So _Carl_ had shot _two_ people, Morgan and Jesse, the boy from Woodbury he'd killed during the Governor's raid on the prison.

"He was sniping from the roof—drew on my dad." Carl said defensively. "Didn't hurt him much; he had on body armor."

"Did you know that when you _shot _him?" Carol asked, struggling to keep her voice even.

"No." Carl bit out, sounding more like the petulant child he had been in the months following the arrival of the Woodbury residents. "He was threatening the mission; threatening all of us. I had to take him out. To protect the group-"

"So it's all right if Rick's son—" Carol began, but was interrupted by Carl's heated protestation,

"He had a _rifle_—"

Daryl slammed his left hand down hard on the table, just once.

"Ain't doin' us no good to rehash it—what's done is done. Let's get on with it." Daryl said in a calm but commanding voice. He lifted Carol's hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her wrist, feeling how much her pulse had sped up. Sara had told him she wasn't supposed to get riled up like this—he should've know that any discussion of Rick and their former lives might bring up old issues that were hard to let go.

"Awright?" Daryl asked and looked back and forth between them. Frowning, Carol still looked belligerent. Daryl lifted her hand and placed it, along with his own, over her belly. "Or is Merle back on the table?" he threatened teasingly. It was an on-going joke between them that he wanted to name one of the twins after his brother—even if they were both girls. That coaxed a smile from her and a quizzical look from Carl.

"I'm sorry, Carl." Carol said, looking across at the boy who had already lost so much.

"I get it...I guess my dad doesn't quite see straight when it involves his kids..." he raised his hand to his face, straightening the patch he wore there. "He killed the woman who did this." he said quietly.

"What?" Carol asked. She'd wondered how and when he'd lost his eye, not wanting to ask.

"It was about a year ago. She was with a group of six that wanted in that we met up with when we were checking snares. She slashed me with a hidden knife when I told her she'd have to wait in the holding area until the Council met. It happened so fast...didn't really hurt, you know? Just felt white hot and then I just saw red. Her blood, my blood everywhere...he shot her...would a shot all of them if Tyreese hadn't stopped him, tackled him, knocked him down." He looked over at Daryl. "Ty has kinda taken your place." he said somewhat apologetically. Daryl shrugged, understanding. Rick would always need a sidekick, an enforcer: first Shane, then Daryl and now Tyreese. It made sense.

"Council reprimanded him for acting _'without due process'..."_ he quickly glanced at Carol, "...but wasn't much they could do about it. Hershel couldn't save my eye, so now I'm a pirate." and at that he smiled. "Which at least made Rose happy." At the mention of her daughter Carol softened and then thought of Judith, who had been the same age as Rose was now when she'd last seen the littlest Grimes.

"So why are you here, Carl?" Carol asked.

"And why are you alone?" Daryl added.

"Well, I told you, Michonne went after dad, but when neither of them came back after a week I couldn't just let Beth, Jude and the others go. Morgan and I took two of the dirt bikes he had scavenged and left eight days after Michonne did, trying to track the raiders, going to every community of survivors we could find, looking for word." He looked over at Daryl. "We got separated two weeks ago, but I couldn't give up. I decided to look for you."

"Separated?" Daryl asked, wondering what would cause the older man to leave Carl on his own.

"He found his wife's sister and her son. Didn't want to leave them." It had been a joyous reunion and Carl had been happy for the man who had been so devastated by the loss of his own family, but he'd been unwilling to return home until he found the objects of his own search. Looking for Daryl had seemed better than just giving up so he went north, believing in unseen things for the first time in a long time. He'd believed he would find Daryl and he had.

"So what did you do to get this place named after you?" Carl asked curiously. That had been the only clue he'd had as he worked his way north. Rumors of a community on the edge of the forest and the name Fort Dixon had seemed almost too good to be true.

"Meet Lori Dixon, founder of Fort Dixon." Daryl grinned and cocked his thumb at the woman next to him.

"I hardly did it single handedly." Carol scoffed, remembering the difficult first days, battling walkers and the environment to gain a foothold here in the north Georgia mountains. Placing her faith in the people around her again. How Abraham, Rosita and she had gathered other small bands of survivors as they came across them while scavenging or hunting. How Sam, who reminded her so much of Morales, from the quarry camp outside of Atlanta, had argued for her life when she'd been so sick, not knowing she was carrying Daryl's child. How Rosita had found Sara, held captive by a man who claimed that he'd "bought her fair and square," and traded the jerky from an entire deer for her so that Carol could have a midwife. She wouldn't be here without them and they meant as much to her as any of those she'd been with at the prison.

"So you took _her _name...my mom's...and Daryl's?" Carl asked.

"I wanted to be reminded of them every time someone said my name;" and then she added softly, "Reminded of love." Carol told him in explanation, squeezing Daryl's hand. "Everyone deserves a second chance."

"Even my dad?" Carl asked pointedly, asking her to try to forgive his father for what he had done.

"Why are you here, Carl?" Carol asked again.

Carl sighed. He hadn't expected to find the family sitting across from him. Hadn't expected to ever see Carol again; _never_ expected to meet the sweet bright_ child_ of these two people who had meant so much to him since the Turn.

"Carl?" Daryl prompted, already sure he knew the answer, but needing to hear it voiced openly so they could deal with it.

"I need Daryl to help me find Judith and Beth. I want him to come with me and track them." Carl finally said. He'd come looking for the tracker to help him in his search; looking for some chance at hope that the ones he sought might still be alive and that Daryl would be the one person who could finally find them and bring them back…the two people that meant the most in the world to him: his little sister and the girl he loved.

Carol looked over at Daryl, her eyes huge, and she clutched at his hand. Carl saw the fear and anxiety on her face and started to apologize, to withdraw his request, but before he could get a word out they all heard the gentle splash and drip of Carol's waters breaking.

* * *

_**Rick: "So we gotta stick together, fight for each other; be willing to lay down our lives for each other if it comes to that. It's the only chance we've got...Stay off the road. Keep moving. Keep your eyes open. I don't know just...just be safe." **_**S2 Ep. 1, last attempt to contact Morgan on the walkies as the group left Atlanta.**

**My Morgan here has come back from the brink because Carl trusted him enough to bring his people to him after the prison fell. He was able to become engaged in the world again, even to the point of helping Carl look for the family he has lost. I wanted to give him a purpose & show that despite the message the show seems to be sending this season, I think people **_**can **_**come back when they re-establish that human connection so necessary to civilization. Morgan even gets a little happy ending by finding family figuratively and literally as Carl tells his story in this chapter. He is the flip side of Rick in my story. Rick has lost it, having no faith that anyone else can find the lost loved ones, shutting out the very people upon whom he should be relying on to help him and then going off on his own. **

**BTW I looked for the name of the Grimes' home town and couldn't find it, only that it is located in King County.**

**Thanks for hanging in there waiting for updates. I've got company for Thanksgiving week & tons of papers to grade, but I snuck away to get this finished & posted for you: )**


	6. Chapter 6: Twin Paradox

_**AN: Hello all! A nice long chapter for you, full of babies and sweet hot Caryl smut. We all need it after two Daryl & Carol free episodes in a row, LOL!**_

_**Thanks to all readers, favorites and follows and for the great reviews! The guest ones have been lovely to get as well as the ones from all my wonderful regulars.**_

* * *

_**The Twin Paradox**_

_**November 30,**_ _**Year 4AT (After Turn)**_

"It's gonna be ok—just hang on—Daryl went to get the midwife lady, right?" Carl told Carol, holding her hand tightly. They had gotten her to the bed after her water broke and she was propped up on the many pillows she liked to have on her side—Daryl didn't use one, except for more amorous activities than sleeping...which was the kind of thing that had gotten her in this condition in the first place...

_**7 months ago, May, Year 4AT **_

"Daryl, can you come sit with me?" Carol asked, patting the bench seat of the porch swing bedside her. He'd been antsy as the proverbial cat on that hot roof all day, starting seven different projects and finishing none of them. Daryl frowned at her—he'd just put Rose down after walking the floor for almost an hour with her. She was teething and fussy and was keeping them both up at night with it. He saw Carol's exhaustion and it worried him. She was too thin; nursing took a lot out of her, though it did have the added benefit of making her more buxom than she had been before...he sighed. Although they slept in the same bed every night, they'd both been too tired to make love for almost a month.

Sunrise to sunset they worked hard at Fort Dixon—without modern conveniences for the most part it was like being back in the 19th century and everything seemed to take at least three times as long. Water had to be hauled from the well at the lodge for everything from drinking to washing, food preparation was mostly communal, the big outdoor ovens and grills safer than open flames in everyone's homes, although Daryl had just finished building a fireplace in the addition he was working on adding to the cottage.

Carol had been surprised by how well Daryl had adapted to the domestic life. He actually had almost a perfect skill set for the way they lived here, but she'd worried that living in close quarters with her and Rose would be stifling for him. He'd admitted that he'd never shared a bed with anyone before, and cuddling was a new concept, but he'd gotten quite possessive of her and that translated into a physical closeness she hadn't expected. Daryl of old had been parsimonious with touch, doling it out like rare 100 year old scotch, all the more precious because you never knew if you would ever taste it again. This new Daryl slept with his arms around her, spooning her close.

"You are so good with her." Carol said as Daryl sat down beside her, laying his arm along the top of the back of the bench so it was behind her shoulders and she leaned back on it, her head on his bicep, closing her eyes in contentment.

"It's easy..."Daryl shrugged. "She's a good baby."

"So you think the next one will be as good?' Carol asked nonchalantly, waiting for it to sink in.

"You wanna try for another one?" Daryl asked, grinning and letting his wrist and hand curve around her shoulder, drawing her closer. At 38 she wasn't beyond another pregnancy, but it could be riskier.

"Don't need to." she said, moving in to the curve of his body, soaking up his heat, putting her arms around his torso. Daryl ran hot, one of the reasons he de-sleeved his shirts so often.

Daryl frowned, slowly replaying the conversation over in his head. He raised an eyebrow and leaned away so he could look down at her face.

"Remember your birthday?" she asked with a knowing smile.

_ Oh. My birthday. _Daryl thought, actually flushing hotter, remembering.

* * *

_**8 months ago, April 13, Year 4AT**_

He didn't exactly know how she knew but she did. They hadn't celebrated birthdays much at the prison. They tried for the kids, Carl's and Judith's and then the ones that came from Woodbury and after, but for the adults it didn't seem worth the bother. Daryl had never had a birthday party—never even had a cake after his mother died—his daddy didn't see much point in congratulating yourself on something you'd had no control over like bein' born.

His birthday was in April—all he could think was that she must've seen his driver's license when she'd been helping him move his things into her place last fall—he had a few things left from his life before stuffed in an envelope stuck in the copy of _Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance_ that she'd given him as a joke. She didn't know he'd already read it cover to cover when he'd been in high school.

April 13th—of course he'd been born on a Friday, something his daddy never let him forget, and blaming every bit of bad luck the family had on him. Yeah, birthdays were not a family fun time for Daryl most of his life.

He'd been out all day, leaving at sunrise, taking a group on a run into nearby Fairmount. They'd been slowly clearing it of anything usable, systematically going from house to house, business to business. Carol had mapped the location when they'd first sheltered at the lodge, scouting, gridding it all out, which made what they were doing today pretty routine—except for the walkers. The walkers were always the wild card, the fly in the ointment of any well laid plans.

In the basement of the Episcopal Church they hit a nest. Parishioners perhaps, who had taken refuge there and had died when the boiler exploded, sealing them in until one of the scavengers had pried the doors open. The smell had been horrific, putrid, charnel house of rotted cooked flesh, and the cadavers streamed through the opening, ravenous, attacking en masse the hapless crew of three assigned to this block. Their screams brought the others and they'd been in time to save Rosita, who had been thrown up on top of the church van by Marty, a brawny former line backer from Auburn. Neither he nor the third, a recent arrival who'd called himself "Brownie," had made it.

When the group had returned with full trucks but cold or anguished expressions, Carol had been waiting at the gates, up on the ramparts with Rose. She could tell by the set of Daryl's shoulders, his mouth, that they'd lost somebody—that _he'd _lost somebody. She knew that's how he would think of it. As he climbed out of the cab of the truck she could see the rest of him. He was covered in blood and her heart stopped for a few seconds until she could see that it wasn't his.

Abraham leaned on the door of the small S-10 pickup Daryl had been driving and looked at him sadly.

"You ok?" the tall bearded man asked.

"Lost Marty and Brownie." Daryl said curtly, lifting his bow out of the cab and slinging it over his shoulder. He grabbed a full pillowcase he had commandeered as a make-shift sack and brought it along with him.

"Herd?" Abe asked and Daryl shook his head no.

"Nest." Daryl said wearily.

"Sorry—good men."

"Yep." Daryl started to pull the door shut and Abe stood back and away from it so he could close it. Daryl ran his right hand through his hair, feeling the grit and sticky blood congealed there, pulling it back off of his forehead and looking up at the ramparts, knowing Carol would be there. She met his eyes and smiled sadly, nodding a welcome, holding Rose a little tighter. He gave her the same small smile and nodded back.

"Go get cleaned up—let Rosita report in. Lori's been pacin' up there for the last hour; go home." Abe said, glancing up at the walkway above the gate and then giving Daryl a quick comradely smack on his shoulder.

"Thanks, man." Daryl said, giving in a little more to his weariness.

Abe watched as Daryl headed to the doorway to the rampart stairs to meet up with his woman. They didn't embrace, but he did lean down to look at Rose and then up at Lori, his face like a man who had just stumbled his way out of the desert to find an oasis with cool clear water. She reached up to his cheek with her free hand and he leaned into it and then continued forward so he could kiss her gently. Abe was constantly surprised by how Daryl was with them. Around the woman and child his whole manner became instantly calm, even his voice changed to something softer, more patient. Daryl reached in the bag he carried and pulled out a small toy crossbow and arrow set, still in its cardboard packaging and Rose squealed in delight as she grabbed it from him.

Abe had seen what violence the tracker was capable of with his own eyes, both on runs and when the camp was threatened, but also when he was defending Lori's honor.

* * *

_**18 months ago, May, Year 2 AT**_

When Daryl had been staying with him, Abraham had impressed upon the quiet tracker in what high regard Carol was held here at the fort and how many others wanted to be the one she looked to for comfort and support. About three weeks into his stay, a good old boy named Ben invited Abe, Sam and Daryl for some of the home brew moonshine he'd cooked up and the talk had turned to "Lori."

"How long you known her then, Daryl?" Sam asked, curious as to the chronology of the relationship.

"Met outside Atlanta right after the Turn." Daryl said truthfully.

"So you weren't together before?" Abe asked.

"Nope." Daryl said and took another pull on the shine—white lightnin'—good too. He hadn't had a buzz like this since the CDC.

"Interesting." Abe added, looking at Daryl speculatively.

"And how long did you know her before you hooked up?" Sam pressed.

"She lost her little girl. I'as helpin' look for her..." Daryl's voice trailed off as he thought of how he'd overcome his reticence to bring Carol the white flower, trying to comfort her. "Got closer then."

"She had another child?" Abe asked—Carol had never mentioned that. Daryl squinted at them assessingly.

"That's her business—shouldn't a brought it up." Daryl said.

"She died?" Abe asked gently, nodding. "That explains a lot." Daryl flashed him a questioning look.

"When she realized she was pregnant she was overjoyed...and terrified." Abe and Rosita had been the only ones there to witness her meltdown the day they had finally talked her into taking the pregnancy test.

"_Lori..." _Daryl's eyes took on an unfocused look as he remembered that horrible day. He realized the other men were all staring at him expectantly and he cleared his throat and took another swig of the burning alcohol._ "_Lori saw one of the other women in our group die in childbirth." he said quietly. That had been the same day he thought he'd lost Carol in the Tombs.

"How'd she get separated from the group anyhow?" Ben asked, sounding a little insolent.

Carol had prepared Daryl for this.

"We were holed up at a farm site—got overrun by a massive herd." Daryl told them, his voice low and grating with emotion. "Thought she was gone—someone saw her go down. Couldn't go back to look for her. I guess she got cut her off from the rendezvous point, and we couldn't stay there."

"Sounds like you didn't do a very good job keepin' track your woman." Sam said with a snicker, failing to notice the slow burn behind Daryl's narrowed gas flame blue eyes.

"Well, your loss was definitely our gain." Abe smirked, holding out the Mason jar to Ben for a refill. "Hell of a woman. Sassy, smart, hard workin' and pretty damn sexy to boot: _to Lori!"_ he said, raising his glass high in a toast. "Raise' em high, boys!" he ordered and the others followed suit.

"_Way up firm and high..."_ Ben sang drunkenly, quoting an old rock song and miming the woman in question's perky breasts with his hands, sloshing a bit of the home brew over the lip of the glass as he leered.

Daryl glared hotly at the redneck brewer.

"Hey—you ain't gonna sit there and deny the woman has got pretty magnificent tits!" Ben laughed, nudging Daryl. "They _taste _sweet as they look?" he asked the other man with another winking leer.

Daryl's fist moved so fast that at first the other two men couldn't figure out why Ben was suddenly on the floor, howling and holding his nose. Daryl stood over him, fists clenched, rock solid, practically humming with seething rage.

"Don't ever wanna hear any a you assholes talk about her like that again—you_ got that?" _Daryl clarified, looking around the room. Abe and Sam nodded quickly in agreement. Angry jealous Daryl did not look like someone with whom you messed.

Ben wasn't as smart as his two friends.

"So she gave in to her need to do a lil' redneck slummin' and you knocked her up—you think that gives you prior _claim_ or something?" Ben bit out, nursing his broken nose, which was bleeding profusely. "From what I seen, she ain't_ lettin'_ you come inside, is she?" going for the nasty double entendre. Everyone knew where Daryl slept these days and it wasn't with the mother of his child.

Daryl slapped his hand down onto Ben's collar and hauled him up bodily so they were nose to broken nose.

"I think it means once my_ wife_ n' I work out some things the rest a you are gonna be up shit creek." Daryl said as evenly as his anger would allow. "Stay the _hell_ away from her." he warned and dropped the man on his ass.

So much for Daryl's mellow buzz.

Tomorrow he would regret the 'shine and his sore fist, but he expected that the fact that he'd just _lied to_ two of the Council members and told them that he and Carol were married (and where _the hell_ had _that_ come from anyhow?) would make his hangover insignificant in comparison to Carol's wrath.

* * *

Of course an account of the incident had swiftly made its way around camp. Carol had shown up at Abe's door about midmorning, after the last breakfast shift had come and gone with no sight of Daryl. Nursing a blinding hangover, the man she was looking for didn't take too kindly to the pounding on the cabin door, and when his surly calls for Abe to _just get the fuckin' door_ went unanswered he looked up from his bunk and realized he was alone. Grumbling he'd sat up, but when his stomach and head protested the sudden movement he quickly lay back down.

_"Don't open—dead inside."_ he muttered with a groan, pulling his pillow over his face, but the pounding continued.

"Daryl Dixon! You open this door right now!"

_"Shit."_ he moaned. It was Carol. He hauled himself up and stumbled to the door, flinging it open. She stood there, imperiously gazing at him, but then blinked rapidly and her eyes moved up and down, taking him in. She raised an eyebrow at him as she met his eyes again.

"You _do_ know you're _naked_, right?" she asked evenly.

"Yeah? Ain't nothin' you ain't seen afore, right?" he said belligerently, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning his right shoulder and upper arm on the door frame, totally comfortable with his nudity in front of her.

"Hey Daryl...Lori!" Sam called out with bright amusement as he walked by.

"Sam." the couple said in unison, Carol not turning around, enjoying the sight in front of her too much. He was thinner than he'd been last time she'd seen his body, and it looked good on him. The smooth hard lines of muscle in his abdomen and hips curved down to the thickening as she watched long length of his cock between muscular thighs that she knew from firsthand experience could support her weight, pressed against a wall, and still let him thrust up into her waiting tight wetness, his firm rounded ass bunching and pumping until she was floating away in ecstasy.

"See anything I could interest ya in?" he drawled, snapping her out of her sex drenched reverie; snapping her eyes back up to his, hot, knowing exactly what she'd been thinking, remembering...

"Are you still drunk?" Carol asked archly, going for prim, but the high color in her cheeks gave her away.

"Probly...lil'bit." Daryl admitted, nodding his head in agreement with her assessment, wincing slightly. "More hung over than anythin'; _need _coffee..." and then he turned and walked back into the room...and the lickable shoulders, tattoos, the scars, and that _ass_ just about killed her.

"Brought you some." she told him, holding up a thermos and he turned back around with a big grin, putting both hands over his heart.

_ "My angel of mercy..."_ Daryl said with a cheeky grin, letting his hands fall to the points of his hips and then he raised the right one and motioned her inside with a sweeping gesture.

Carol pursed her lips. She knew this wasn't just an invitation to coffee. She'd felt that pull, low down and insistent in her core. She wanted him. Hell, she'd _always_ want him...but she wasn't ready for this. He'd been here less than a month. She'd had over a year to figure out how to live without him and that hard won independence wasn't something she could afford to give up just because somehow, against all odds he had stumbled upon her again. She set the thermos down on a small table just inside the door. Daryl's look of disappointment almost stopped her next move, but then she reminded herself that it wasn't just her who would be devastated if she let him in and he left again.

"I'll see you at two when you pick up Rose." Carol said, backing away. "And Daryl?"

"Yeah?" he said, wondering what smart ass retort he'd have to suffer this time for telling the three men he'd been drinking with that they were married.

"Thank you for defending my honor last night." she said quietly and then she was gone, shutting the door after her.

Daryl sauntered over to the thermos and picked it up. He poured himself a cup of the black brew, rich and fragrant. God he loved that smell—where the hell she'd gotten it he'd love to know, coffee was a rarity these days—and then he went over to his backpack, snagging it and carrying it back to his bunk. He fished around in the inner pocket, smiling when he felt what he was looking for. Lifting his hand he pulled out the lace panties that he'd slid off of Carol's long pale smooth legs all those months ago and stuck in his back pocket. He took another good sniff of the coffee and then drank down the hot java while he felt the silk against his rough fingers. Setting down the empty mug he lifted the lace to his face, inhaling deeply.

"No contest." he sighed to himself and then fisting the panties tightly, settled back into his bed, his free hand going to his cock, to make do with the poor substitute for the woman who'd worn them.

* * *

_**8 months ago, April 13, Year 4AT**_

It had only been another week before he had proved to her and to the whole camp that he was here to stay. They'd been living as man and wife with a young child since then, and the day to day routine they established didn't leave much time for the niceties of romance. The night feedings, the teething, the crying jags from colic—all of the very real parts of having a child, the things with which Carol had been coping on her own for the first three months of Rose's life were the same things with Sophia that had driven Ed away.

Daryl not only stayed, he helped. Sometimes he was the _only_ one who could get Rose to take the small bottle of milk she'd expressed earlier in the day, the only thing that allowed Carol to get uninterrupted sleep for more than a few hours at a time.

Tonight on his birthday, she'd arranged for Sara to keep the baby so she could have some alone time with Daryl. Carol had taken her nap in the afternoon while he was out on the run so she'd be well rested, waking in time to wait for him on the wall. Her friends had all helped prepare a special surprise for Daryl and she was looking forward to his reaction. The young midwife was waiting on the porch swing when they arrived back at the cottage and after a kiss goodnight from both her papa and mama Miss Rose was off for her sleepover with Sara.

Daryl looked a little perplexed that the baby was leaving, but allowed Carol to lead him inside where a large old fashioned copper bathtub had been set up in front of the fireplace in the new room he and the work crew had just put the roof on yesterday. A kettle was heating in the grate and the tub was already half full of steaming hot water. A series of candles set in all sorts and heights of clear and colored glass containers, from Mason jars to green pickle jars to blue glass wine bottles were set on the mantle, giving off a warm low light. Daryl stopped short in the doorway, at a loss for words and looked at her.

"I know you don't do baths." Carol told him with a dimple deep smile, "but I thought you might like this better than the communal showers," and she walked over to the low table next to the tub and picked up a sponge and a back scrubber and held them up. When he still didn't move she dropped the tools down in the water and picked up the large handmade bar of soap. "Rosita made the soap especially for you—it's aloe and goat's milk with oatmeal and pine..."she lifted it to her nose, "...scrubs good and smells good too," and then she held it out to him to smell, but when he still didn't move she set it back down.

Daryl's eyebrows drew together in a frown. He was a bit like most cats when it came to the idea of immersing himself in water...and it didn't help matters that the last time he'd done it had been at the bottom of a ravine and he'd had an arrow in his side...

"Look—I'm sorry—I know I stink...why don't you use the bath n' I'll go grab a quick shower?" Daryl offered, ducking his head and starting to back out of the room.

"It's a nice big tub...how 'bout we share?" Carol said in that voice of seductive challenge he remembered so well. Daryl stopped and his head came back up to look at her and she was running one hand lazily through the water in the tub while the other had started on the buttons on her shirt, slowly pulling them out one at a time. Daryl had to admit this bath thing had definite possibilities.

"You gonna wash my back?" Daryl asked, taking a step back into the room and tossing his head to the side to clear the bangs from his eyes so he could consider her with his piercing gaze.

"Play your cards right I'll do your front too..."Carol murmured, reaching the last button at the bottom of her blouse and letting it hang open so he could see the inner curves of her bountiful breasts, nipples already hardened to upright peaks pushing up and clearly visible through the light cotton. Nursing had made them extremely sensitive so she rarely wore a bra, a fact that just about drove Daryl nuts most days.

"How 'bout I do yours?" he growled and then he was across the room, his big hands pushing her blouse aside so he could just look at her breasts. He knew she was tender, had watched her rub the soothing aloe and lanolin paste that Rosita had made for her on them after Rose nursed, but damn they were gorgeous. With her tiny waist and soft round ass she looked like a voluptuous 40s pin up girl. He'd always loved her breasts just the way they were, but something about the fact that they were _this_ way because she was nursing his child made him go all Paul Anka _'havin' my baby.'_ His mouth watered to taste them, but it seemed wrong—they weren't his to enjoy now...

"I started weaning Rose three days ago." Carol told him softly. "Sara said I'd be sore until my milk stopped coming in, but that massage would help..." and she lifted her hands to his and brought them to her breasts so his hands could cup them.

_"Shit, Carol..."_ Daryl groaned, closing his eyes and his cock immediately came to full attention. "Can I?... _shit!" _his knees almost buckled when he felt her right hand close over his cock, stroking him through the khaki pants he wore.

"Daryl—now—please?" she begged breathily, arching her back and thrusting her chest forward into his hands. He gently began moving his fingers in slow circles, his thumbs brushing back and forth over the stiff nipples and she whimpered and gripped his pulsing hardness tighter, making his hips start a slow grind up and back. He was so hard she could feel the ridge of the head through the cloth covering it, so hard she could feel his pulse slamming through the length of it.

"God—_Carol _–wait! Stop!" he whimpered. His left hand left her breast and closed around her wrist, pulling it away from his body. She made a sound of protest, but he forestalled her by swiftly leaning down and licking a circle around her right nipple as he held her in his hand. He lifted his head and she was staring at him, those big blue eyes full of mischief.

"Your trigger a little itchy there, Dixon?" she teased, "Afraid the big gun might go off too soon?"

"It's these tits, sweetheart—they need the full focus a my lovin' attention!" he said with such sweet sincerity, batting _his_ baby blues at her, that she giggled.

"Tub." she ordered, "the warm water will feel good on all our aches and pains." Daryl cocked his head at her for a few beats, but then nodded his assent and released her so he could finish taking off her blouse. She reached up and started on the snaps of his vest.

"Where exactly did this contraption come from anyhow?" Daryl asked, looking at the tub as he toed off his steel toed boots.

"You don't like it?" Carol pouted, pushing his vest off of his shoulders.

"Didn't say that—just wondered why you got it here." he said as he pulled his t shirt off over his head.

"It's your birthday present. Well, it and _me_." Carol told him, taking off her belt with its sheathed knife while he did the same.

"_My birthday_?" he stopped, looking surprised—was it really? She kept better track of the days than he—wait, how did she even know that date?

Carol nodded at him and her hands moved to the waist of her pants, but he stepped closer and gently pushed them aside so he could replace them with his.

"I think I should finish unwrappin' my _present _then, shouldn't I?" he drawled, leaning close to press a kiss to her collar bone as his fingers made fast work of the buttons of her jeans. Before he could even slide them off her hips he had to push under the heavy denim, one hand behind and the other in front, cupping one satin soft cheek of her ass and the other over the springy soft curls over her center.

_"Daryl?"_ Carol whimpered his name as she felt his fingers curl into her both in front and from behind, then heard his muttered oath because the pants were too tight to let his hands do what he wanted to do. She quickly brought her hands down, snagging the waistband of the jeans and tugging as hard as she could, dragging them down and off of her to hang at her calves. Then her hands moved to grasp his biceps, which felt like supple flowing iron or steel under the sweat, dirt and dried blood still covering them.

"Thas' right—good girl—_hang on_." Daryl muttered, sounding almost drunk with need, and then his mouth closed over her right nipple at the same time his thumb grazed her clit and his middle finger pushed up inside her heat drenched opening and her knees buckled. The fingers of the hand on her ass spread out wide, holding her up so he could use the ones of the other hand to play her like an Eric Clapton riff, elegant strum and flow, building from easy scales to complicated rhythms of intricate melody, his tongue and lips and teeth at her breast adding a rich harmony, building to the point of climax: exquisite tension and keening release as she came, shuddering and bucking against him.

_She was so sweet, her smell, her taste_, _so god damn wet and soft for him, every time_, Daryl thought to himself. Everything about her made him hard to the point of pain—but it hurt so good to ache like this—to know that when he finally sank into her she'd welcome him, love him not just with her body, but with her heart and soul as well. He lifted her with one strong arm around her waist, still shaking from her orgasm, and tried to slide her jeans the rest of the way off, but they caught on the buckles of her Doc Marten boots, frustrating his efforts. He set her back down on the floor.

"Shit Carol –should a taken yer boots off first." he admonished gently, and knelt before her to work the buckles, succeeding with the first and pulling it off. She swayed towards him, light headed, catching herself by putting her open hands to the crown of his head and clutching at his long dirty hair, inadvertently pulling him forward just as he looked up to check on her. His forehead collided with her belly and his nose and mouth were at the apex of her thighs, still wet with her juices.

_"Shit Carol..."_ Daryl repeated, and groaned and gave up on the second boot, lowering her to the floor, spreading her thighs and burying his face in one of his favorite places on earth.

_"Daryl! I can't again_! You already...oh god..._oh my god... oh my god... oh my god..." _she gasped as the most amazing pleasure spread through her as he fucked her with his tongue, making a spear of it and stabbing it up inside her, over and over, his fingers digging in, dimpling her inner thighs—there'd be bruises there tomorrow—to hold her wide, hold her still for him. The hard ridge of his upper lip over his teeth and the bristle scrape of his moustache bumped her clit every time he pushed his tongue and chin forward, and the waves of _ecstasy _that spread out from her center, where every thought and feeling about him she'd ever had now seemed to be focused, were flowing over her chest, into her lungs, her heart, down her arms and legs, the ends of her toes and fingers tingling.

Carol could hear the higher pitched moans and whimpers coming from him as he gave her pleasure—he sounded so turned on and so utterly helpless to it that it made her ever hotter if that was possible. That this strong man wanted her, cared for her, loved her with such abandon was still amazing to her. She felt herself teetering on the edge of it, elusive; needing some final push and then his left hand released her leg and blindly moved to find her hand, lacing their fingers together and grasping it tightly. That silent touch, that connection on equal terms danced her off the edge, falling helplessly, but then she was caught and carried up by her angel, his name the only thing she could remember about this world, and so she called it out, thanking whatever powers that be that he had found her; that they were together now.

* * *

"How you get all this water in here?" Daryl asked, surfacing after he had immersed himself to rinse his hair as they sat across from each other in the big copper tub. When he'd finally gotten her other boot off (and when she'd been coherent again) he'd lifted her into the bath and then stripped down and joined her there. He had to admit, having a naked Carol wash him made baths seem like a pretty damn good option if he had to get cleaned up anyway.

"Bucket brigade—everyone helped. Can't do this every day, but for special occasions, it's nice, isn't it?" she asked with a smile.

"You are amazin'." he told her, watching as the movements of her hand with the soapy sponge scrubbing his arm made her whole arm shake rhythmically back and forth, which in turn made her soapy slick breasts slip up out of and back under the cloudy warm water, giving him a peek of slippery rose pink nipples every time.

"Am I now?" she said, giving him a saucy smile, moving closer, soaping up her sponge and drawing it up and over, lifting his arm then so she could continue her thorough cleaning of him, looking at the small devil perched on the inside of his bicep, washing and rinsing it. Did he know he had such magnificent arms that it looked as if Michelangelo himself had carved them? or were they just something useful that allowed him to wield weapons, draw his bow, throw a knife...hold her, hold their child...she leaned forward and kissed the small demon and then opened her mouth over it, licking and nipping him there and then sucking down hard.

_"Hey!"_ he gave a small cry of surprise at the sharp little pain she was inflicting, his hand finding and gripping her shoulder. Carol lifted her head and looked up at him.

"Stop?" she asked him, and he stared into her eyes, the pupils wide and dark. And then he nodded no and sat up so that his chest was above the water. She saw the name tattooed over his heart right above the nipple and his hand moved to brush his finger tips against it.

_"More..."_ he ground out, loving her mouth on him. Carol's smile had a sensual glint that dimpled her cheeks and made her eyes narrow in anticipation. She leaned over him, her mouth gliding over the blue script, as always wondering at its origin, but never asking. Everyone deserved their secrets.

Daryl lifted his hands and found her upper arms so he could drag her body over top of his, pulling her left hand up around his neck to hold her in place as she kissed and licked his chest. The water sluiced around them, splashing over the sides of the tub. When Carol reached his nipple she made a small sound of pleasure in her throat, swirling around its little erection with her tongue and sucking down hard, feeling his heart rate speed up and hearing his moan deep in his chest. Her right hand skated down his body, slipping over the muscled planes and angled curves of his abs, tangling in the light fur that trailed below his navel, a leading path to his groin and the treasures that awaited her there.

When her hand closed over the broad mushrooming head Daryl sighed deeply and she let her teeth close over his nipple, nipping again lightly and felt his cock swell further and heard his gasp of pleasure. Her hand slid further down, pumping his shaft in the same rhythm as her mouth drew on his breast and he laughed in a burst of happiness at how fuckin' good it felt to have her make love to him, how well she knew his triggers.

_"Ride me."_ he groaned, pulling her up his body until her face was even with his, her thighs on either side of his hips. She smiled a Mona Lisa smile at him as she retained her hold on his cock and guided him inside her depths. Daryl's eyes rolled back in his head as she rolled her hips forward. She braced her hands on his shoulders and his fell from her waist to cup both cheeks of her ass, urging her to quicken the gliding movements of her hips.

"Like this?" Carol asked him, using her grip on his broad shoulders to pull her body up and back.

_"Like..."_ he agreed, and then she got another gleam in her eye and reached back to take a firm hold on the edge of the tub above and behind him so that her breasts were thrust forward flush to his face. "..._fuckin' hell, Carol..." _he gasped.

"Like?" she asked breathily and moaned as his reply was to close his lips over her left nipple and suckle there and then thrust up into her, breaking her rhythm as the sensations washed over her.

Daryl gripped her hips, holding her still, holding himself inside her, releasing her nipple with a slurping pop and kissing the inside curve of her breast.

_"This..."_ he began in a raspy whisper, but then his mouth moved to the other side, kissing the same curve of her other breast and finding the nipple, licking around it and then enclosing it with his lips, flicking his tongue across it, back and forth, making her squirm and whimper. She felt his smile, his whiskered cheek against her breast and then he lifted his head to look deeply into her eyes, crinkled at the corners with her answering smile.

_"...with you..."_ he continued as her hands lowered from the side of the tub and came to hold his face, her thumbs brushing over his jaws.

_"This?"_ she asked, using her right hand to slick his hair back off of his brow, finding the scar there from Andrea's bullet at the edge of his hairline, remembering all that he had done for her since then, thinking of the life they'd been able to carve out of this broken world together.

"_This_...making _love."_ he told her, a look of wonder breaking over his face that he could have this, here, with her, and she kissed him then, shifting her hips up and back until he let his hands move to span her waist. She rode him, pushing the water forward and back like a tidal wave, sloshing around them, her hands on his chest for leverage and her breath coming in long gasps; his fast, ragged with need.

Daryl's right hand slipped back to her core, finding her swollen bud and matching her pace on him with his fingers.

"_Come _for me sweetheart, _come with me..." _he demanded, feeling his orgasm spiraling, drawing up tight against his body. He felt her clit quiver delicately against the tips of his fingers, throbbing and then she convulsed around him, her channel slamming down tight on his cock and he groaned, _"Oh goddam!"_ and exploded into her, coming in reply, drenching her inner walls with his heat and she spasmed again in reaction, making high pitched keening sounds and then collapsing, panting against him. Daryl wrapped his arms around her and kissed her temple.

_"Baths?" _Daryl huffed, trying to catch his breath._ "Pretty good idea."_

_ "Happy Birthday, Pookie."_ Carol said with a more than satisfied sigh.

* * *

_**November 30,**_ _**Year 4AT (After Turn)**_

"All right now Lori, I need to examine you to see how you're progressing." Sara said, her mellow voice pitched low and calming. Daryl was sitting on the edge of the bed next to Carol, supporting her with his right arm around her, letting her lean back against him. Carol cried out with a contraction and Daryl spoke to her soothingly, helping her breathe through it. Carol had learned Lamaze technique to be ready to help Hershel with Lori and had also used it during Rose's delivery. Daryl had insisted she teach him, wanting to help with the twin's birth.

Sara looked up at Carl who was watching anxiously, pacing back and forth at the foot of the bed, his hands clenched into fists.

"We need a little privacy here, Ok Carl?" Sara asked the young man, but his eyes went to Daryl's who wasn't really surprised to see how terrified the boy was.

"Need a knife." Carl mumbled, reaching for his belt, but looked confused when his hand found the sheath there empty.

_"Carl!"_ Daryl said sharply, hoping to snap him out of his flashback to Judith's birth or whatever this was. Carl blinked as if he'd been slapped. "Need you to go get Rosita to watch Rose—you remember the way to the lodge?" Carl blinked and then slowly nodded, but still didn't move.

"Carl, _please_?" Carol asked and then bit her lip and dug her fingernails into Daryl's forearm to keep from crying out as another contraction hit, not wanting to scare the boy even more.

"Sure—sure mom—be right back..." Carl said and came to her bedside to place a kiss on her cheek and then ran out of the room.

"What the hell was that all about?" Sara said as she put a doubled over clean sheet under Carol and then cleaned her hands with antibacterial gel before she checked Carol's dilation.

"His mother—she died—when his sister was born. She didn't make it. He ended it before she turned. He was 12." Carol panted, "I need to push—can I push?" she begged.

_"Shit!"_ Sara exclaimed, her eyes going wide, but neither Daryl nor Carol knew if the curse was for Carl's sad story or to Carol's question.

_"What!?"_ Daryl yelled, scared shitless.

"Hang onto something, hon—you're fully dilated and the first one is crowning—_push!"_ she ordered. Carol held onto Daryl, weeping, her face contorted and red with the effort of pushing, her determination shining through. Daryl watched her, marveling how even now she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever known.

_"Oh shit—I see it!" _Daryl whispered as the big bald head pushed its way in the world, the shoulders next, one at a time, and then the rest of his small body slithered out easily.

"Got his papa's shoulders!" Sara laughed, lifting the baby and giving him a brisk rub with the towel until he cried out, sounding pissed off at the world for being evicted from his nice warm wet amniotic bath.

_"His?"_ Daryl said in wonder.

"Yep—baby number one is a boy." Sara told them, clamping the umbilical cord."You doing the honors, papa?" she asked and he looked to Carol who smiled. Sara handed him the surgical scissors and he snipped between the two clamps.

"You can say hello, but then we have to get ready for baby two, ok?" Sara said, lifting the small boy and placing him on Carol's chest. He fussed and mewled, opening big blue eyes, and then crying lustily.

"Hey there buddy—simmer down now." Daryl soothed, cupping the baby's round head in his palm. "Was Rose this grouchy?" he asked Carol, and at the same time she said "no" Sara said "yes" and they both laughed.

"I guess I was so glad she was alive and healthy she seemed perfect to me." Carol admitted.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't here." Daryl said with regret, wishing he'd found her sooner, that he'd known she was pregnant before she left the prison, wishing he hadn't missed all this for Rose.

"You're here now—Rosie loves you." Carol assured him. "And so does her momma." she added and he kissed her.

Rosita bustled in then, bringing hot water and after tut tutting at and then congratulating his parents, took the baby away to clean him up.

"All right Lori, here we go." Sara said, palpating her abdomen to determine the second baby's position and frowning. A contraction made her abdomen go rigid, but Carol wasn't having any of it and lay back.

"Don't wanna." Carol pouted and looked over at Daryl, "Already had a baby today—too tired to do it again..._hurts_."

"Pappa—need some help here." Sara said sternly, "Don't let mama quit on us." At that Carol sat back up and glared at Sara, furious.

"What kind of paternalistic bullshit are you spouting?" Carol spit out. "I _don't _need a man to tell me not to quit." and then she looked up at Daryl beseechingly, _"But I'm tired and it hurts."_ she whispered to him.

"I know darlin, but just a little more and then you're done, ok? We'll have our babies—Rose and Sophia got a little bro now—let's see what else, a'right?" At his inclusion of her first child's name as a sibling Carol's tears spilled over in earnest and she clutched his arm through another contraction.

"I love you so much." she told Daryl, "You know that, right?" she asked, her watercolor blue eyes staring into his darker ones, "Even if you'd never found me I'd have loved you 'til the day I die." she told him and smiled through her tears as she saw the tears running down his face as well. Then her eyes squeezed shut as another contraction hit and she cried out in pain.

"Ok, Lori, get ready to start pushing—this one's a little more shy than big brother was—all right, now—big push!" and when Carol did two little feet, toes up, appeared, "Stop—wait—stop pushing!" Sara yelled.

"What's wrong?" Daryl asked.

"Sara?" Carol asked, sounding worried.

"Footling breech. Rosita—I need you!" the other woman came over to the bed after wrapping and placing the first baby in the cradle. Taking a towel Sara gently wrapped it around the baby's hips as soon as they emerged and rotated the torso 180° so that its face was down. It was another boy.

"Push down, here." Sara instructed Rosita, lifting her hand to Carol's pubic bone, forcing the baby's head into the correct safe position for delivery.

"All right Lori –_push_." Sara said. Then working very slowly and carefully she helped the baby deliver safely by rotating the body and lifting to keep the spine from hyper extending, reaching in and checking the position of the arms, sighing in relief as they came through with the torso. If they had extended above the head, delivery would've been much more difficult and she could've lost both of them. Finally she felt the head pass through the cervix and out. Using her suction bulb Sara cleared the nose and mouth and she rubbed his chest vigorously, all of them sighing in relief when he let out a cry—not quite so lustily as his brother, but still a good lungful.

"He ok?" Daryl said, noting how much smaller the second baby was than the first. Sara was carefully examining him.

"It's not unusual for one twin to be smaller than the other. He'll catch up." she reassured him.

"Another generation of Dixon boys," Carol said, as Daryl cut the second umbilical cord. "Thank you so much, Sara." she said with a heartfelt sigh. Sara nodded in acknowledgement, happy that things had turned out all right, feeling the switch blade hanging heavy on her hip. Birth after the Turn was just as dangerous as it had been before, with the added fears of either mother or child turning added into the mix.

"What kind of twins are they?" Rosita asked, curiously, and bringing the older boy over.

"Identical—but mirror images—look." Sara grinned.

They lay them side by side. On the first baby's face, just to the right side of his mouth, was a small dark beauty mark to match his father's. On the smaller twin was the same, only on the left side.

"Mama? Papa?" a small voice called from the door. Carl was carrying Rose in his arms.

"Is it ok if we—"Carl asked tentatively. Rosita must've turned the babysitting duty over to Carl when she came to help Sara.

"Not too close—let's try to keep exposure to others to a minimum the first few days." Sara expertly swaddled both babies and lifted them each in turn so Carl and Rose could see them.

"Those are your brothers, Rosie." Daryl told her, "Nice, huh?"

"Congratulations." Carl said quietly, a slightly sad smile haunting his face, wondering where his little sister was right now, if she was hungry and cold, tired and lonely...anything worse he couldn't face the possibility of... He looked over at Daryl sitting next to Carol on the bed; a baby cradled in each arm, and then felt a small hand touch his wet cheek.

"Don't kwai, pie-woot Cawl." she told him softly, "Babies is nice—papa said."

"I know, Rosie Posie, _I know..."_ Carl replied.

* * *

_**Of course since this chapter is about the birth of Carol and Daryl's twins I wanted a title that alluded to that. A paradox is a statement that contradicts itself but might also be true, the classic example being the Liar's paradox: "Everything I say is a lie. I am lying." sounds like the Governor to me...**_

_**The "Twin paradox" is actually a problem in the physics of space travel where two identical twins, one who stays home and the other who ventures from his home into space, experience time and relative dimension in space differently. This reminded me of the fact that Carl stayed with Rick and the others after first Carol and then Daryl left the group, venturing out into the unknown. For C&D, their perception of those they knew stayed the same as their last meeting with them. The same is true of Carl's perception of C&D. However now that he has seen the life that they have created here in Fort Dixon, will young Mr. Grimes still try to cast them in their former roles within the group? Leave Carol at home caring for the children while Daryl heads out on a mission of mercy?**_


	7. Chapter 7: Slim Chances

_**As Carl prepares to leave, new arrivals mean baby names and an important decision for Daryl and Carol.**_

_**Thank you to all the readers enjoying this story; it's wonderful to hear from so many of you! Follow, favorite and review, all of you are great; ) Crossing my fingers as we go into the mid-season finale that we get a little Caryl shout out...**_

* * *

**Slim Chances**

_**Rick: "That's what it's all about now...slim chances**_**..." S 1 Finale; on walkie to Morgan.**

* * *

_"Daryl, you can't."_

_ "It's not right."_

_ "How could you even think of leaving us...takin' off on your wife n' kids?"_

_ "I know how much your other group meant to you, but you made a commitment to this one—to Fort Dixon when you accepted citizenship here!"_

The angry voices assailed Daryl from every side, overlapping, angry, pleading, and indignant. A week after their birth, the gathering was supposed to be the naming ceremony for his sons..._shit_, he had three kids now—he and Carol. He looked over at her sitting in the comfy chair, propped up on pillows with Rose dancing from toe to toe beside her, begging to hold one of the bundled up baby boys she had in her arms. Her face was calm and resigned as she gently reasoned with a two year old while also keeping her eye on Daryl.

He had just told the group about Carl's reason for coming to them and the room exploded with anxiety. Daryl was one of their best fighters and was well respected in the group for all of the skills that he brought with him. That he was also the partner of the woman most considered their unofficial leader made his presence vital to the general welfare of the community.

"Can I say something?" a soft voiced request cut through the silence of the others waiting for Daryl to reply to all of the questions. Everyone turned to Sara, who was standing at the back of the room near Carl. The crowd parted so she and Carl could come to stand before Daryl, who noted that the pair was holding hands.

"What is it Sara?" Daryl asked, a bit impatient and unsure of what she could say that would make a difference to his decision. He knew she was utterly loyal to Carol and the idea that he might leave her and their newborns wasn't something she would support.

"I've just been talking to Carl and from his description of the men that took his sister I think I know them." the young African American woman said hesitantly.

"Sara?" Rosita asked, coming to stand beside the now trembling girl. A pretty and capable looking Hispanic woman in her thirties, Rosita had been one of the first people Carol had met after her exile, along with Abraham and another man named David, who had left on a trade mission to the north and had never returned. As one of the founders of this place, Rosita was a calm voice of reason and credibility.

"I think they're the ones who took _me._" Sara told them all. There were murmurs around the room. Most knew that Rosita had traded goods for the midwife's life with a group of raiders who specialized in the burgeoning slave trade market when Carol's pregnancy had become apparent.

"She was with them for six months, Daryl—she knows where they set up their camps!" Carl said excitedly, taking a step closer to Daryl, pulling Sara forward.

"Doesn't mean they're still there Carl." Daryl said gently, not wanting to disappoint the boy, but knowing that men like that would stay on the move, acquiring more captives as they sold off the others.

"But it's a start, right?" Carl asked, desperate for hope to cling to.

"They have a base-a town where their women and children live." Sara told them. "They took me there because the leader's woman had several miscarriages and they wanted me to help her through the latest pregnancy." Sara said with a look of pain on her face. "When she lost that one too they were going to kill me, but Ellie, the woman liked me and talked them into just selling me."

Sara remembered at the time thinking it must be something like Rh factor, some basic genetic incompatibility between the parents or with the woman's anatomy that wouldn't allow her to carry a child to term. It was nothing she could cope with in this new frontier town world. Ellie's sorrow had been deep, and Sara had secretly counseled her to try a pregnancy with another father or to stop trying all together. A keen observer of human interaction, Sara had seen the way the leader's second and Ellie looked at each other and thought her suggestion might just be the thing that saved her.

"Can you find it again?" Daryl asked, glancing over at Carol as she said it to gauge her response to the turn the discussion had taken. Her face was a mask of tolerance, but that vertical crease between her brows that she wore whenever she was troubled was gouged deep.

Carol looked back over at Daryl, thinking of the conversation...well..._argument,_ which they had the night before last after Carl had told them he was leaving after the celebration. He had fit in well here and had made friends with Sara and a couple of the other young people close to his age. They had invited him out to play board games in the lodge that night and he'd marveled at the fact that people actually _played_ here. Carol loved having him stay with them, reveling in the chance to talk old times and hear news about the people she'd know at the prison, but it would be nice to just have some time alone with Daryl and the babies.

* * *

They were sitting up in the brass bed that he had surprised her with when they'd finished the bedroom addition to the cottage. Daryl was feeding the larger of the twins, propped up on his lap with pillows, from a small bottle and Carol was nursing the smaller. Rose was long asleep, exhausted after forcing Carl and Daryl to play pirates with her after dinner and sing her silly pirate song too many times.

"She looks so much like Lori." Carol said, looking again at the picture of a three year old Judith seated on Beth's lap that Carl carried with him. The photo was now propped up on the nightstand beside the bed. Glenn had taken it with his Polaroid shortly before the raid in the prison, presenting it to Carl with a grin, knowing about the crush the boy had on the pretty blond younger Greene sister.

"Don't think you see a little Shane peekin' out?" Daryl drawled and Carol swatted his thigh.

"She has Rick's eyes." Carol said, tears rolling down her cheeks unbidden. Rick had such sad blue eyes, haunted by the weight of leadership and all he had seen and done in its name. She had loved Rick like a brother, had looked to him as both her leader and her friend. When he had told her that even if they were the only two survivors of the illness that had swept the prison he wouldn't want her there, wouldn't trust her with his children it had almost killed her. After all they had been through together it had been such a blow to lose his trust...

_"Hey."_ Daryl said, bumping her with his shoulder, worried as always by her tears.

"You miss him, don't you?" Carol asked, knowing that what had happened between her and Rick had cut him off from his best friend, the man who had become his brother. Daryl shook his head no.

"Rick burned his bridges with me."

"But you want to go with Carl..." she said, "...find little ass kicker."

"I'm right where I want to be." Daryl told her, his voice full of emotion, leaning over and softly kissing her cheek. She turned her head so their lips met in a full on lingering kiss. Carol raised her hand to his cheek when the kiss ended, and spoke in a soft but emotional voice.

"They'll kill him..._Carl_...if by some miracle he finds them, Daryl, those pirates that took her and Lizzie and Beth, _they'll kill him_." Carol said, resting her forehead on his. The baby he was holding started fussing and they pulled apart so Daryl could adjust the angle of the bottle.

"_Ain't gonna leave you."_ Daryl said adamantly, but his face looked bleak. _"You n' our kids."_

"If anyone took Rose or the boys you wouldn't rest until you found them." Carol said, looking down at the tiny baby she held. "We owe Lori, Hershel...to save _their_ children...we promised them." She looked over at Daryl who was regarding her with dismay.

"_Shit Carol!_ I can't believe you're tellin' me to go!" Daryl said incredulously in a heated whisper, mindful of the sleeping child in the next room.

"Daryl, we're as safe here at the Fort as we can be in this mess of a world—these are good people and they'll protect us." Carol said, adding wryly, "It's not like you're leaving me alone in the middle of nowhere."

Daryl frowned out a smile, shaking his head and stared at the woman he'd come to think of as his wife, though no vows had been formally exchanged between them. How could she be so giving, so understanding after all she had been through?

"What the _hell_ kind of a father am I if I leave you and the babies now?" he asked hotly and then his face softened and he looked at her beseechingly, "I never thought I'd have this...have _you_...it's the one thing I don't wanna fuck up."

_"I love those girls like they were my own."_ Carol said, her voice sounding angry. "What kind of person would _I _be if I left them to die or worse when there was a chance you could save them?"

"Only a slim chance we can find them—been three months since they were took." Daryl said, starting to consider what steps he would have to take to start a search of this magnitude.

"I'd trust your slim chance more than anybody else's good one." Carol said, leaning into his side.

"You really mean this—you want me to go?"

"I think you have to."

"If something happens to you when I'm gone..." Daryl looked down at both babies in turn and then back at the face of their mother.

"There aren't any guarantees in this world anymore Daryl—never were. Of course I'd rather it wasn't something you needed to do, but we can't send Carl back out there alone."

"You sure?" Daryl asked, kissing the top of her head.

"You'll come back to me." Carol told him with assurance. "You always have."

_"Marry me." _Daryl said softly. Carol went still. "Shit, we got three kids, 'bout time I made an honest woman outa ya." Carol smiled but didn't say anything. Daryl leaned back so he could see her face. _"Carol?"_

"Everyone already thinks we're married." she grinned at him. "You told Abe and Sam, the two biggest gossips in camp." she admonished.

"Is that a _yes?_" Daryl squinted uncertainly at her, thrusting his chin out, chewing on his lower lip. Carol looked at him adoringly—he looked so vulnerable, as if there was a possibility for any other answer she would give him.

"Nothing would make me happier." she nodded yes and he grinned big, putting his hand under her chin and lifting her face for a kiss.

* * *

"Lori—you can't be ok with this." Abraham said, drawing all eyes to the woman quietly seated at the side of the room. Daryl walked over, knelt beside her and Rosie raised her little arms to her papa to be picked up, and so he did, talking to her softly.

Carl looked at the Dixon family and then at the floor guiltily.

"He has my blessing." Carol said simply and Carl's head came up in surprise.

And that ended the discussion; if Lori was ok with it, who was anyone else to protest it?

"We are here to wet the heads of the two newest additions to our little community here at Fort Dixon. It's a little tradition in many cultures to do this on the seventh day, and so we adopt this as ours as well." Sam, who had been an oldies station radio DJ in another life, acted as a sort of ad hoc master of ceremonies.

Carol and Daryl stood at the front of the room, each holding one of the babies, Sara and Carl, holding Rose, stood beside them.

"And what names have you chosen for your sons?" Sam asked.

"Charles Merlin and Theodore Dale," Carol said, smiling over at Daryl and then Carl who teared up to see they had honored T-Dog, Dale and Merle with the names they had chosen. 'Charles' was also a form of Carl, and 'Carol' was actually the Latin for Charles.

"Chuck n' Ted," Daryl drawled.

"Charlie and Teddy," Carol corrected gently, "they're only babies, honey." Daryl snorted and then everyone chuckled at the interplay between the couple. The happy moment was interrupted by the sudden arrival of one of the younger message runners.

"Daryl!" the young man called out, breathing hard—he had obviously run all the way from the gate. Daryl handed Teddy to Sara and went to meet the boy.

"What's wrong, Mark?"

"There's people at the gate—say they know you—say they need your help—pretty insistent someone go get you _right now_."

"You know the rules, Mark." Carol said sternly. "No one past the gates until someone vouches for them."

"The woman is pretty damn scary—got a sword looks like it could—" but he didn't get to finish because he was interrupted by Carl.

"Dreads? African American?" Carl asked anxiously

"Yeah—said her name was _Mission _or somthin'?" Mark told them.

"She alone?" Daryl asked, looking over at Carol with concern.

"Skinny guy with a beard—seems kinda outa it." Mark told them. Carl looked at Daryl with a mixture of hope and anxiety.

"He got a name?" Daryl asked, dreading the answer.

"Uh—yeah—Dick? Rich?" Mark said, thinking hard.

_"Rick?"_ Carol asked in a monotone, feeling her perfect little world suddenly slipping away from her...

"That's it—yeah, Rick!" Mark said brightly, unaware of the shit storm he had just brought down on them all.

* * *

**My dad, who has said he doesn't like "zombie stuff" & has never seen TWD, agreed to watch one episode. I picked **_**Cherokee Rose:**_

**Dad: "Who lives in that camper? Oh—there's that pretty lady who was on the highway."**

**Me: "That's Carol, she's the mother of the little girl who's missing."**

**Dad: "And that's Daryl—aw, he brought her a flower? Is she his wife?"**

_**I love my dad.**_


	8. Chapter 8: Time it was

_**Hello! Hope everyone had a nice Thanksgiving. It's cold but sunny where I am and I happily just realized that in this story Charlie and Teddy Dixon's birthday is tomorrow:D So happy birthday boys!**_

_**Daryl and Carol start to deal with the implications of Rick and Michonne's arrival and the effect it will have on all of their lives.**_

* * *

_**Time it was**_

_Time it was and what a time it was  
a time of innocence  
a time of confidences  
long ago it must be  
I have a photograph  
preserve your memories  
they're all that's left you.  
_ - "Bookends" by Simon & Garfunkel

"_Son of a bitch._ It really is _you_." Michonne grinned as Daryl came through the gates of Fort Dixon to greet her and Rick. She sheathed her katana and looked him up and down, nodding her head approvingly, and her dreadlocked hair, longer now than it had been when he last saw the warrior woman, bounced like Shirley Temple's curls. She reached for his hand, clasping it firmly and pulling him into a back slapping hug, laughing with tired happiness.

"Got someone else anxious to see ya." Daryl said, stepping aside so Carl was now visible to her as well. If she had been happy to see Daryl, Michonne was speechless with joy to see Carl. Taking three long fast strides forward she grabbed up the boy and held him so fiercely it brought tears to Carol's eyes even from where she stood, out of sight on the ramparts above.

_"Carl?"_ came a soft voiced question and Daryl looked away from the two embracing and saw a thin rail of a man, his confused face covered by an almost all white beard, a camo stocking cap on his head, wearing an ill fitting jean jacket over brown corduroy pants and cowboy boots. Michonne pulled away from Carl and looked back at her traveling companion with concern.

"It's ok, Rick—it's really Carl this time." Michonne said soothingly, taking the boy by the arm and leading him over to his father. Rick looked afraid, like he was afraid his son would vanish in a puff of smoke if he touched him, and he backed up, shaking his head no.

"Rick?" Daryl asked quietly, trying to catch his attention so the others could get closer to him. Rick's head swiveled around in shock, his mouth open, finally recognizing the other man.

"I couldn't find her, Daryl." Rick said, sounding lost. "I've looked and looked, but I couldn't find her_...I'm so sorry_..."

"It's all right, Rick." Daryl soothed in the same soft tone that Michonne had used with him, holding his hand up in supplication. "I'm helpin' Carl look for lil'asskicker now—we'll find'er, don't worry..."

"No—_no_!" Rick interrupted, moving surprisingly swiftly to Daryl, trembling and looking at him with such grief that Daryl put his hands on Rick's shoulders to steady the man.

"Rick, it's ok—" Daryl began again, but Rick leaned in, putting his mouth to the tracker's ear.

"_Carol_—I couldn't find _Carol_ ..._for you_..." Rick whispered desperately, "I thought I knew where she was but she's never there..." he reached in his coat pocket and brought out a battered half bent over Polaroid of Carol and then her watch and handed them to Daryl. "Time keeps slipping away and the watch is _broken_...I'm _so sorry_." he said again, "_You _won't forgive me—won't come home unless I find her, and I _need _you to come home so you can help me and 'Chonne find Judi and Beth—Carl's waitin' for me to find them..."

"Carl's right _here_, Rick." Daryl said, pulling slightly away and raising his hand to motion Carl forward, trying to keep it together, sadly realizing how broken his old friend had become.

"Fort Dixon_. Knew_ it was you." Rick cackled happily, punching Daryl on the shoulder, trying to ignore what he thought was the ghost of his son, some apparition with which he chose not to deal. "Saved their asses and they named the place after you, right?"

"Dad?" Carl asked, moving to stand beside Daryl. Michonne came to Rick's other side, ready to support him if need be. "Dad, it's _me_."

Rick's animated attempt at interaction with Daryl just stopped, like a watch when the battery dies or isn't wound. He stood there, frozen, blinking furiously as if he was trying to clear his eyes. Rick pulled the cap off of his head and held it in his hands, clutching it protectively in front of him.

"Carl?" the croaking voice that came out of Rick was sad and full hopeful fear. Carl reached out and touched his father's arm.

"I'm here, dad—_it's ok_—really."

"Oh my god, _Carl_..." Rick choked out and turned toward the boy, falling into an embrace, kept from falling to his knees by his son's strong arms.

Daryl looked up to the ramparts; saw Carol's enigmatic expression, and for the first time in a long time he wasn't sure what exactly she was thinking.

* * *

"He's not _right_—anyone can see it if they talk to him for more than a minute. I don't want him here." Sam said adamantly, arguing his case against admitting the newcomers.

"He's had a hard time of it—lost his little girl." Daryl said, standing with his arms crossed in front of him, leaning his right hip on the door, waiting for Carol to weigh in, but she sat in silence, listening to the other members of the council debating whether or not Rick and Michonne should be granted entry.

"Gives me the creeps," Sam said, shaking his head.

"You knew him back when, Lori—what do you think?" Rosita asked. They had all taken note of the fact that she had not gone out with Daryl to greet the new arrivals. When she didn't respond, Daryl stood and looked at the rest of the assembly.

"Give us a minute, would ya?" Daryl said quietly, taking a few steps away from the door, his gaze moving to stare at Carol. The others looked questioningly at the couple, but finally stood and left the room, talking and whispering amongst themselves.

Daryl came to kneel beside Carol's chair.

"Tell me what you want to do." Daryl said quietly. She was chewing on her lower lip, _his_ usual tell for indecision or nerves.

"What did he say to you?" Carol asked, frowning down at him. She'd seen Rick whisper in Daryl's ear, feared what he had said. Daryl sighed. He wasn't sure she'd want to believe him. Daryl took her small cold hand in his.

"He told me he'd been lookin' for _you_; that he knew I wouldn't forgive him unless he found you." Daryl told her, and her eyes widened. He took the picture out of his pocket and looked at it. In the battered photo, Carol's face was pensive, her body half turned away from the camera. He handed it to her.

"He had this?" she asked as she looked at it. She remembered that day...the last day before it all fell apart at the prison...

* * *

"Hey Carol? You ever used one of these things?" Glenn called out. The group, now one man less than they had been when they left, had just returned from the disastrous run to the Big Spot and were unloading what meager supplies they had gleaned before walkers had started raining down from the sky bringing death and destruction.

Carol looked over and saw that Glenn had a Polaroid camera. She didn't even know they still made those things.

"If it has film in it, you basically just point and click and the pictures come out the front and develop while you watch. Kinda neat I suppose." Carol thought of all the photo albums and slide carousels she'd had to abandon on their trek over the last two years, wishing she had just one photograph, one image of Sophia left, not just the purple band she often wore around her wrist that had once held back the girl's silky hair. Sometimes now, as much as she hated to admit it, it was hard to recall exactly what her daughter looked like; it was as if her memories had some sort of film or haze over them, fading even as she fought against it. Maybe it was her heart and mind insulating her against the pain of all the losses...someone else's slide show now.

Glenn nodded and began looking more closely at the camera.

_"Carol?"_ Daryl's soft voice came from behind her. Carol turned towards him.

"You ok?" Carol asked, noting how his mouth turned down at the corners, how dark the circles under his eyes looked, how sad they were.

"Lost Zack." he told her, his voice a low growl, angry at the world. "Hafta go tell Beth." He added bleakly.

"I know—I'm so sorry." Carol said, wishing she felt she could comfort him with more than words. Touch that was any more than a playful nudge such as the one he'd given her that morning had been off the table for them for the last month...ever since the warden's office...

"Carol!" Glenn called out and she turned back around to look at him just as the camera flash went off, her worry about Daryl still the thing uppermost in her mind, her expression pensive.

_"Glenn!"_ Carol said, annoyed with him and she turned back to Daryl, but he had turned away, heading out the door, already on his way to the C Block, to Beth's cell. Carol felt bereft.

Three days later, in the midst of the plague that struck the prison, Rick would banish her.

* * *

After Daryl handed her the photo Carol frowned, seeing that it was folded in half. She looked up at Daryl and he nodded at her. She slowly unfolded the cracked surface of the picture and what she saw brought tears to her eyes. The frozen moment that Glenn had captured as she turned towards him also showed Daryl in the other half of the picture, raising his right hand towards her, a look of such longing on his face it took her breath away.

"You tell me what you want to do." Daryl said, his hands on her knees, "That's what we'll do."

"What if he tells them, Daryl? Who I really am? What I did?" Carol asked him, tears running down her face. "We _can't_ leave here—the boys, Rose...I already started over once, and I can't let him destroy that." she sounded on the edge of panic. Daryl rose up on his knees to wrap his arms around her.

"_You_ are Doc Lori Dixon, the woman I'm gonna marry, mother of my kids, and founder of Fort Dixon." Daryl said adamantly and then gave her a long sweet comforting kiss. Carol held his face in her hands.

"I love you," Carol told him, "so much."

"Tell you what, Ol' Rick wants my help; he keeps his damn mouth _shut_." Daryl told her. "How 'bout that?"

"You think he'll agree to that?" Carol asked doubtfully, releasing his face and taking both of his hands in hers. Self righteous Rick had been adamant about his distrust of her; could he let her continue in a position of power here without feeling the need to warn the locals?

"My way or the highway." Daryl clichéd with a wink, squeezing her hands, "I know Michonne and Carl will agree to it—to watch him...he's broken, Carol..."

_"Lori."_ Carol said, "I'm Lori now." Daryl raised an eyebrow at her; "I _have to be_ Lori now." she looked deeply into his eyes, willing him to understand. If she was going to embrace her new life fully, she needed to totally leave _Carol_ behind. Not to forget what she had done at the prison, what they had all been through, but be able to move on from it.

_"Lori."_ Daryl rolled the name experimentally on his tongue.

"I should just tell them, the council." Lori said, her voice sounding thoughtful, distant.

_"What?"_ Daryl sat back on his haunches and cocked his head to the side.

"Then Rick wouldn't have anything to hold over me." Lori reasoned.

"But you just said—the boys, Rose?" he asked her, not understanding.

"If after all I've done for them, for this place, if they can't understand why I did what I did..."

"You really wanna _risk_ that?" Daryl interrupted her, worried that her fear of what Rick might do would lead her to do something that would endanger the safety of their family. She looked at him, her eyes filling with tears again. "I'll send them away, Rick and all of 'em." he told her, his hand to her cheek, "They have the information from Sara now—that's more than they had to go on afore this. They'll find 'em."

Lori looked at him and sighed at the fierceness of his expression.

"I'm so tired of lying, Daryl." she told him wearily.

"Isn't a lie that yer a good person who survived bein' on your own long enough to hook up with this bunch; that you saved these people's bacon time and again, that they _respect_ you for what you bring to this community ... and for havin' the good sense to get knocked up by the likes a _me_." Daryl added the last in a lighter teasing tone, trying to coax a smile out of her.

"Twice." she said with a tiny smile.

"Twice," he nodded, "With a double or nothin' on the last." he reminded her and she smiled again, but it slowly melted off her face, replaced by a look of fear.

_"Oh god Daryl, our babies..._"

"Ain't nothin' gonna happen to 'em." Daryl promised, "I'll talk to Rick and Michonne..." then he picked up the photograph that Rick had given him and looked at it, shaking his head at the emotions that it had inadvertently captured "...even on the train to Crazy town he knows you're his leverage for me to do what he wants."

"Can I have it?" Lori asked, holding out her hand for the photo, but Daryl hesitated.

"Don't got no pictures a you." he said, smoothing out the double portrait on his dungaree thigh and then flipping it back upright.

"I was thinking the same thing." she smiled at him.

"We _ain't _cuttin' it in half. Spent enough times split apart—don't like the symbolism." he snorted. "Have to trade off."

"So who gets custody now?" Lori asked and Daryl handed her the photograph. "Ladies first?" she asked with a raised brow as she took it from him.

"Age before beauty?" Daryl snarked back at her.

"Do you _ever_ expect to have sex with me again?" she asked him archly at the implied insult and he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in that sweet spot between her neck and her shoulder, licking from her collarbone to her ear, sucking on her earlobe until she moaned and he released it.

_"Fuck yeah."_ he whispered into her ear. "How long do I hafta wait anyhow?" he pouted, knowing she was going to be recovering from giving birth for awhile, but trying to keep her mind off of the question of Rick for a little while longer.

"Seeing as I gave birth to your big headed sons a mere seven days ago..." she began, pulling away from him, and then as if on cue they could hear the boys both crying in the corridor. _"Damn it."_ Lori said, pulling her cardigan sweater and blouse away from her chest, two wet spots on the fabric right over her full breasts. She unbuttoned her blouse and Daryl's mouth came open and he gave a little gasp of amazement as he stared at her.

"You—your-you're..." Daryl stuttered, flustered by biology.

"Those are hungry cries—go get them_, please?"_ Lori asked him and he brushed a quick kiss to her lips. "And then go get Rose, Carl, Rick and Michonne." she told him with a resolute look. "I want them to _see_ what our life is here, _our new family_."

_Smart._ Daryl thought to himself. Rick was all about family and protecting the children at all costs. How could he betray them if it meant endangering three innocent ones?

"I'm a lucky man." Daryl smiled, staring at her, pale but with red cheeks and nose from crying, her crystal blue eyes soft with love for him and their babies, her lush body warm and soft and _his_ to hold, smiling as she looked back at him, trusting in his love for her now, believing he'd made her the center of his life, just as she had him.

"Oh—almost forgot—Rick gave me this too." Daryl fished the watch missing half of its band out of his pocket and held it out to her. Lori looked at it but made no move to take it.

"That was Carol's." Lori said in a detached voice, as if she was discussing an old acquaintance. "Why don't you give it to Sara? She can probably use it."

Daryl frowned at her worriedly, not sure if she was being sensible or about to join Rick on the Crazy town Express.

"You sure?" he asked her, rubbing his thumb over the smooth glass surface of the crystal face of the small watch.

"Ed gave it to her for their first anniversary...a long time ago..." Lori elaborated and Daryl's face hardened.

"I could get a hammer—take care of it that way." he growled, flipping the thing up and back by its band in annoyance, not wanting any reminders of her bastard of a first husband to remain.

"He's dead, buried. Not worth the time. Let's just leave him there to rot. It's a good watch, no use throwing good after bad." she told him calmly, her right hand moving to pluck at the stretchy purple pony tail holder she wore like a bracelet on her left wrist. Daryl stared at her for a few beats and then nodded.

"I'll send Sara in with the boys." He told her. "Then I'll bring Rose and the rest in a few, ok?"

"Sounds like a plan." she said, giving him a small smile, but her distracted stillness still worried him. Daryl took two quick steps back to her and bent low, wrapping his free hand around her nape and then he gave her a hard demanding kiss. At first she held herself rigid, aloof, but then it was as if he was the early spring sun coaxing the first crocus to push past the last layer of ice and snow, just in time to prove that the world was about to come alive again, that it was time for a new beginning. She responded, returning the kiss, reaching both hands to brace against his chest, feeling his strong heart beat, constant and sure, and then grasping the leather of his winged vest to hold him to her.

"We're gonna be ok, sweetheart." Daryl said quietly, confidently, _"Lori."_

"I know, Daryl." Lori said, looking into his sea blue eyes. "I know."

* * *

_**I realized that having Daryl call her Carol even in private was tempting fate if anyone overheard them and that for her to finally let go of the past was important. So from now on, she's Lori for us as well, dear readers!**_

_**Thanks to everyone for all of the follows, favorites and kind words in your reviews. I really appreciate all of the interest in my stories and love writing and sharing them with you.**_

_**Next up, the fireworks when Rick meets up with the mother of Daryl's children...**_


	9. Chapter 9: Dat dod dam Wick Gwimes

_**AN:**__** Surprise! I wasn't going to post this chapter for a couple of days, but some people were having trouble with a couple of things(well mainly just one, LOL) in the previous one, so I decided to take mercy on them and go ahead and get it out there sooner rather than later.**_

_**Thanks, readers, faves, follows and as always, faithful reviewers. This one's especially for you. DD1**_

* * *

"_**Dat dod dam Wick Gwimes"**_

Rick Grimes looked around the lodge building that he, Michonne, Carl and Daryl were walking though on their way to meet with the leading member of the Fort Dixon ruling council_._ His eyes fell on his son._ Carl was here_—safe and alive—Rick felt clearer than he had in weeks just knowing that his son was safe. The building was impressive, as grand a log cabin style structure as he'd been in, even before the Turn, and he was awed by what Daryl and his new group had achieved here.

Daryl stopped to greet a Hispanic woman carrying a little girl and Rick's heart felt leaden in his chest as he thought of his own daughter, missing for the last three months. He took in this little one's strawberry blonde hair and turned up nose, something nagging at him, and moved closer so he could hear what was being said. The child reached her hands out to Daryl—no surprise there—kids loved the gruff man—but when she turned her face towards Rick he was startled by her blue eyes and resemblance to another freckle faced girl he'd once known. When she called out to Daryl, Rick stopped in his tracks, in shock.

"Papa!" Rose said crossly, "You n Cawl da pie-woot boy been gone too wong! Me been waitin' _forevah_!" she exaggerated with a big sigh and put her tiny hands on Daryl's chin.

"I'm sorry Rosie—Papa had to go meet up with Carl's daddy and our friend Michonne." Daryl explained and turned so she could see the others.

Rick and Michonne exchanged an incredulous open mouthed look.

"Spittin' image of Sophia, isn't she?" Carl said quietly to his father, coming to stand next to him. Rick whipped his head around to his son, who gave him a small sad smile. Reeling from what that statement implied, Rick looked over at Daryl.

"This is my daughter, Cherokee Rose Dixon; we call her Rose or Rosie." Daryl said gently and looked down at the little girl, "Honey, this is Carl's daddy, Rick, and mama and my friend Michonne, say hello."

"Wick and Miss Swone?" Rose tried, curiously eyeing the new people.

"Thas right." Daryl said encouragingly, his hand spread across her back to support her as she leaned forward, politely holding out her right hand to Michonne, shyly saying _"Hi."_

Michonne's lips curved into a warm smile as she delicately clasped hands with the little girl.

"Hello, Miss Rose. I am..." surprised, flabbergasted, amused? Michonne heard a whole long list of terms in her head but settled for: "..._happy_ to meet you." Rose giggled and nodded, staring at the woman's hair.

"Why you gots wope on you head?" she asked, frowning.

"That's how I wear my hair," Michonne told her, "do you like it?"

"Mama makes me a pony sometimes." Rose said, nodding, making everyone but Daryl frown in confusion.

"Puts her hair in a pony tail." Daryl drawled in explanation and Michonne smiled.

Rose's attention then turned to Rick who was hovering next to Carl.

"This you papa, Cawl?" she asked her new pirate patched friend.

"That's right, Rosie, this is my dad, Rick Grimes." Carl said and Rose's eyes went wide.

"Papa!" she cried, slapping her right hand on Daryl's chest to catch his attention and pointing at Rick, "Is dat dod dam Wick Gwimes!"

Carl and Michonne burst out laughing since the child was obviously repeating something she'd heard many times before and Daryl smirked, knowing neither he nor Rose's mama had been very good about censoring themselves around her at all times. Her favorite phrase to describe Rick, _"That god damned Rick Grimes,"_ had pride of place in any argument they had about the man. Rick raised an eyebrow at Daryl, who didn't correct his daughter.

"My reputation precedes me." Rick said dryly, but then smiled at the little girl. "When your papa was living with us, he took care of my little girl, Carl's sister."

"Judiff." Rose said solemnly, nodding and looking over at Carl. "He sad coz bad mens taked her," then she looked up at Daryl adoringly, "My papa gonna save her." she said with pride.

Rick and Michonne looked surprised at the tiny girl's grasp of the situation, but her parents saw no reason to shield their children from this world's realities. This first generation of children born after the Turn had to be prepared from birth to deal with everything it could throw at them.

"I hope so, Rose." Rick said, giving her a sad smile.

"Papa?" Rose asked, looking up at Daryl.

"Yeah honey?"

"Where Teddy an Charwee?"

"With mama." Daryl assured her.

_"Go!" _she ordered, the little dictator again, pulling on the lapel of his vest.

"Awright." Daryl agreed, figuring it was time. He led them to the doors of the lodge great room, asking the guards to remain outside unless they were called in, and opened the double doors. A wood fire was crackling in the big stone fireplace in the back of the space, filling the large room with a warm glow.

Rick and Michonne finally saw the woman they had suspected they would from all of the clues Carl and Daryl had been doling out to them. Seated near hearth in a large Bentwood rocker was Carol, a light blue handmade blanket thrown over the baby boy she was nursing. To her left in a large wicker basket wrapped in a similar looking but green blanket was the other baby.

Daryl got about half way into the room before Rose demanded to be set down and then she ran over to her mother, almost falling in her excitement, making Daryl race forward to catch her and set her back firmly on both feet.

"Mama! Make me a pony so I can show Miss Shone!" she said excitedly, adding, "And dat dod dam Wick Gwimes!" as an afterthought to be polite. Her mother suppressed a smile at the title Rose had unwittingly bestowed on their erstwhile leader and jutted her chin forward, looking like the queen seated on her throne.

"Rick, 'Shonne—my _wife_, Lori Dixon, founder of Fort Dixon." Daryl said by way of introduction, coming to stand beside her, one hand on her shoulder, the other lifting the blanket to check on Charlie.

"Your _wife_?" Michonne asked softly, taking in the entire scene, the babies, the tenderness with which Daryl was acting.

_"Lori?"_ Rick bit out, sounding appalled, "How _dare _you, Carol!" he said icily, and the cold hard man who had left her, watched her drive away alone all those months ago came to the fore, stalking towards her menacingly. Daryl interposed his body between them, putting his hand on Rick's chest when the former sheriff's deputy tried to push past him.

"Back off, _Grimes._" Daryl growled, chewing on the name.

"I loved her too Rick." The woman he knew as Carol Peletier said calmly. "Don't _you_ _dare_ come into _my _home and tell me any different." she added forcefully.

_"Do they know what you are? What you did?" _Rick yelled, his anger flashing dangerously, again trying to get at Carol by pushing around Daryl. Daryl slammed both hands against Rick's chest. Both babies were startled by the yelling and started crying. Carl and Michonne came forward to back up Daryl while Carol tried to calm Teddy and then stood to check on Charlie.

"Dad! _Stop_!" Carl yelled, taking a hold of Rick's left arm as Michonne took a hold of his right, stopping him from taking a swing at Daryl.

_"What the hell is wrong with you—can't you see she'd holding a baby?"_ Michonne yelled at him.

"You a _mean_ man!" Rose yelled, dashing forward to kick Rick hard in the shins. "Made my brudders kwai!"

_"Rose, no!"_ Carol cried, afraid for her daughter. _"Daryl—watch her!" _Daryl scooped Rose up and stepped back to shield his woman and sons.

The ridiculousness of the tiny girl taking on a big angry man had made Rick stop and look at her furious little face glaring at him and he seemed to deflate, like one of the big balloons the day after the Macy's parade. He staggered back and would've fallen if Carl and Michonne hadn't held him up. Rick stared down at Rose.

"She's a Dixon all right—more bal—er-_guts_ than sense..." Rick said with a shaky laugh. He looked over at Daryl and Carol, at each of the babies, "Are they _all _yours?" he asked them. Daryl nodded yes. Then suddenly he realized something. "My god...how old...?" he said, looking sick, "_How old is_ _Rose_?"

"She's almost three." Carol said, looking Rick in the eye while bouncing Teddy lightly while she rocked Charlie's basket.

"You were pregnant when you left..." Michonne said, nodding sadly, her math as good as Rick's.

"You two were..._together_?—_oh my god_—you never told me..." Rick ground out, wondering at how Daryl had stayed as long as he did after learning that Carol had been exiled.

"Weren't nobody's business but _ours._" Daryl said, pressing a kiss to Rose's brow. She leaned back against him, glad that the shouting had stopped.

"Did _you_ know? That she was pregnant?" Rick asked Daryl, and before he could answer, rounded on Carol, anguished, "Why didn't you_ tell_ me?"

"_I _didn't even know." Carol told him, and then asked, "Would it have made any difference to you?" she put Teddy in the basket alongside Charlie and quickly buttoned her blouse and cardigan.

They all turned to look at Rick.

"I...I uh..." Rick sighed and brought his hand up over his mouth, wiping it down over his long bearded chin, stalling as he turned it over in his mind. "I don't know." he finally said with a sigh.

"I guess honesty is a good place to start." Carol said approvingly, glad he hadn't just told her what she wanted to hear. "Maybe we won't have to throw _you_ out of here on your asses."

Rick winced. Carol had been honest with him when he'd asked her if she'd killed Karen and David.

"Looks like you did all right for yourself, Carol." Rick said defensively, looking around the room. "You don't seem to have suffered any lasting ill effects. I _knew_ you were strong enough to make it on your own."

"But I _wasn't_—don't you see that, Rick? If I hadn't found others, found this place I _wouldn't_ have made it."

"Nobody can make it on their own, Rick." Daryl intoned, deliberately reminding him of what Andrea had said, almost her dying words. He set Rose down in the rocker and she sat there, perched like Edith Ann in her high chair, watching the argument.

"_Carol_ killed them—_our own people_—_Carol_ was the one who acted on her own." Rick accused, pointing at her.

"And when you marooned her? What council met to decide _that_, huh?" Daryl snarled, stepping into Rick's space.

_"Carol_—" Rick began hotly, looking around Daryl.

"My _name_ is Lori."

"_No._ It _isn't_. If you want me to believe you've faced up to what you did, you have to tell these people who you _really_ are." Rick said. "You can't avoid it just by stealing another good woman's name."

_"Enough!"_ Daryl said. "She's got _my_ name. She's a Dixon now. She's _my _family. _This_ is my family," he said adamantly, waving his hand to encompass Carol and his children.

Rick flashed on a brief moment, one that had meant so much to him at the time, Daryl leaving to go after Merle and Michonne, trying to stop him from turning her over to the Governor as an innocent sacrifice, refusing to abandon neither Merle nor the prison survivors, telling Rick,_ "You're family too."_

It seemed that Daryl had made a new choice.

"Are you going to help us find Judith and Beth or not?" Rick asked Daryl point blank, his voice cold.

"You're in Fort _Dixon_ now, Rick. It ain't named for _me_." Daryl said. "I'as proud she took _my _name. She uses Lori's to _honor _her—we both love her little girl..._your_ little girl."

"I know how much it hurt you to lose Lori, Rick." Carol said. "You lost _yourself _for awhile. And we were all there for you. But you didn't give me that luxury...you took everyone I cared about away from me when you sent me off on my own. By the grace of god Daryl found me again and we've made a good life for ourselves here. Now you show up and want to drag him off on another _run?"_

Daryl shot her a questioning look—she'd already agreed that he could go if Rick would agree to keep her secret. What was she doing?

Carol stared Rick down, neither wavering.

"We need his help." Rick said.

"Enough to keep your mouth shut?" Carol asked him, her mouth set in a firm line. Rick's chin came up defiantly, so determined to be right that he wasn't backing down, even if it meant no Daryl.

"Fine." Carol said, striding past him, Carl and Michonne, going to the big double doors and throwing them open.

"Nick, Mark, summon the others." she told the young men waiting there as guards. The rest of the council, who were waiting outside in the courtyard, returned quickly. Abraham, Sam, Rosita and Sara looked curiously at the two newcomers, especially Rick, who looked like a wild eyed Santa Claus scarecrow, pacing at the edge of the room.

"My name was Carol Peletier." Carol said, shocking Daryl. She pointed at Rick, "This is Rick Grimes, Carl's father. He was the leader of the group that Daryl and I used to belong to. We were living at West Georgia Prison, there was an outbreak—a virus that killed fast. I tried to stop it, took out two of our own who came down with it. I acted alone, let my fear for the group—the children—guide me instead of the council. Rick was a cop, before the Turn. He figured it out, confronted me. I confessed and he took me away from the prison and left me. I was lucky enough to find you..." she looked at Abraham and Rosita. "I wanted a new start, a chance to redeem myself, so I lied. I'm sorry for that." she sighed, wiping her hand across her forehead.

"And then I got sick...well, when we all thought I was sick... instead of casting me out or killing me you took care of me." she looked at Rosita, "And when I found out I was pregnant—when I had a chance at holding onto a little piece of the man I loved, you made that possible too by finding Sara. I can never thank you enough for all of that."

Daryl came up beside her and took her hand in his.

"And then Daryl found me." She looked up at him, at his look of loving concern, and smiled at him. He curled up one side of his mouth at her proudly. Carol took a deep breath.

"I'll understand if you want us to go, but Carl's baby sister and some others from our first group are still missing and Daryl's their best bet." she looked over at Carl and Michonne and then back to the council members. "If I could stay here with the babies until he gets back—"

"Oh just shut the fuck up, _Carol._" Abraham said quietly, coming forward and enveloping her in a hug. "You think _we'd_ be stupid enough to toss you away?" the big man leaned back and held on to her upper arms. "I'm damn sorry you had to take the lives of those two people, but sounds like you were tryin' to protect the group. Don't know how the almighty keeps his tally, but by mine you saved a hell of a lot of other people since then, me included, by getting' this place goin and with your doctorin'." he released her and squinted a challenging look at Rick.

"I never thought you felt like a Lori." Rosita said matter of factly, raising her hands, the many bracelets she wore clanking on her wrists, tracing the shape of Carol's head, neck and shoulders in the air. "Your aura is much bluer than what a Lori's should be—no purple—no, Carol works for me." she nodded and pronounced firmly, resting her hands on Carol's shoulders and giving them a squeeze before she stepped back.

"That why there was no ring on your finger when you showed up?"Sam asked, smirking at Daryl and raising a speculative eyebrow. "Knocked you up but wouldn't marry you?" Carol blushed.

"He didn't know." she defended Daryl.

"Asked her." Daryl told them defensively, putting his arm around Carol.

"I always wanted to be a bridesmaid," Sara piped up.

_"What the hell is wrong with you people?!"_ Rick roared incredulously, unable to believe that they would so calmly accept what Carol had just confessed.

"How many people have _you_ killed?" Daryl asked Rick in a deadly serious voice, echoing the second of the questions they used to ask all newcomers. "Shane? The ones at the bar? The convicts? In Woodbury?"

"I killed the living to protect the group." Rick said firmly, but his hands were shaking.

"So did Carol and _she_ come back from it stronger than you ever imagined being." Daryl said forcefully. "_She's_ the one who told me I should go with Carl to find the girls. She had our sons barely a week ago and she's tellin' _me _to go after lil'asskicker 'n Beth."

"It's true, dad." Carl confirmed, "Before we knew you and Michonne were even here. He was planning to come and it was all Carol's idea."

"It's _over_, Rick." Michonne said, putting her hand on Rick's forearm, _"Let it go."_

Rick looked around the room at everyone assembled in what he'd thought would be his moment of retribution, his chance to prove that he had made the right decision in casting Carol out. Instead he was outnumbered by people who loved her, including it seemed, his son, and he had alienated Daryl, who he had pinned his hopes on for finding Judith, even further.

Carol moved away from Daryl's sheltering arm and walked over to Rick.

"You need to know, Rick." Carol said, "They were dying—in what Caleb told us was the final stage—bleeding from their nose and eyes, in agony, I couldn't wait, I couldn't let them suffer like that."

"Why...why didn't you tell me this _before_?" Rick asked, looking like he was having trouble focusing on her, leaning back against the log wall behind him.

"Would you have listened? You'd decided to cut me loose before we even left the prison that day, hadn't you?" Carol accused softly. "And you may have told yourself you were protecting me from Tyreese, but do you seriously think Daryl or I would've let him get anywhere near me? It was easier to cut your losses, tell yourself I wasn't trustworthy any more. You solved the mystery, it was your chance to be top dog again." and now she did sound bitter. "Daryl once told me you _had _honor. Well, what you did to me that day _wasn't_ honorable." She turned on her heel and went back to Daryl and looked down at the basket beside him and Rose. "We named our sons after men who did: T-Dog, Dale, and Merle."

"Burned your bridges, man." Daryl said, shaking his head at Rick.

"I think it's time for our deliberations on the guest admission of the two new arrivals to reconvene." Abraham said. "Mark, Nick, would you escort them to the holding area, please?"

"Don't we get to say anything on our own behalf?" Rick asked heatedly.

"Don't you think you've already said enough, Mr. Grimes?" Sam asked wearily in return.

_"Dat dod dam Wick Gwimes."_ a small high voice said solemnly from the rocking chair in front of the fireplace.

* * *

_**At the risk of giving you whiplash I sort of played a little game with Carol trying to tell herself she could go on lying to everyone by having her ask Daryl (so in effect all of **__**us**__**) to only call her Lori from now on. Some of you were a bit perturbed by that decision and called me on it, so hopefully this chapter soothed your ruffled feathers. I planted the seed of what came true in this chapter in the previous chapter, which some of you clever readers picked up on, when she mused over what might happen if she came clean about her past. **_

_**Carol is and always will be Carol, or else there is no Caryl, right?**_


	10. Chapter 10: Interlude

_**Just a little together time for Caryl before I send him off with Carl and the others to search for Judith and Beth. Sigh. Smut warning.**_

* * *

_**I**__**nterlude**_

"_Sweetheart? What're ya doin'?"_

_ "Shhh."_

_ "Uh-oh—um—oh shit..." _Daryl groaned as he felt the heat of her mouth in the small of his back, her tongue sweeping out to lick a path down the line of his spine as her hands framed his hips. He lay sprawled on his belly, exhausted by the events of the day, knowing he'd be awoken in only a couple of hours when the boys demanded their midnight feeding.

_"Mmm..." _Carol made a happy _yum_ sound as if she was savoring her favorite dessert.

"Is this another one a them hormone spike thingies?" Daryl asked in a tight voice. During the pregnancy he was at the mercy of a double dose of the things—one day she'd tell him his _hair_ was breathing too loud and the next she'd send Rose over to Sara or Rosita and jump him as soon as he came across the threshold. He took to keeping pillows near the door to guarantee them a soft landing and going without underwear because she got cross when it took him too long to get naked.

"Sara said we ain't supposed to be doin' this yet." he reminded her, moaning low when her hands moved towards each other, gliding over the velvet soft skin covering the firm hard muscles of his ass, followed by her mouth, kissing, licking...and his hips shifted up and back, trying to relieve the pressure she was creating on the _other _side of them.

_"I love this ass."_ she murmured, lifting her head as she moved from one cheek to the other. "It's like a sweet downy peach—I just want to bite it."

"The _thangs_ you say with that smart mouth, woman..." Daryl choked back a laugh. "_Unf!" _he grunted when he felt her mouth open over the curve where ass met thigh and she bit down, sharp, fast and then tempered it with several soft licks. Now his cock was at full and pressing attention. _"_Care_-roll!"_ he moaned and her mouth moved to his hip, pushing him onto his back with an insistent hand on his other hip. He tried to sit up, to catch her busy hands but she grabbed his wrists and pushed him down.

"Stay." she ordered.

_"Can't."_ he shook his head at her, "Sara _said._"

"What I want to do_ isn't_ what Sara said we _couldn't_ do." she told him, moving her hands up to his forearms and leaning forward to press her mouth to the soft place at the inside of his right elbow.

_"What?"_

"Don't you _like_ my mouth on you?" she pouted up at him. "On _all_ of you?"

_"You gotta be kiddin' me..."_ he ground out and sighed, letting his head fall back to hit the mattress.

Carol smiled. After giving birth so recently, intercourse may be off the table for awhile, but there was nothing in Sara's orders saying they couldn't enjoy a variety of other more creative pursuits... She hoped tonight that she could coax him into something that he rarely let her do for him. She remembered the first time she had tried, and his almost violent reaction had puzzled her.

* * *

They'd been in the hay mow of the camp horse barns, part of the original lodge complex, fooling around soon after he'd moved in with her. They didn't have much time, but had snuck away when he'd spotted the soft loose piled newly cut tall grass and asked if she'd ever had a roll in the hay. He was being playful, which she loved to see in him, and she wanted to give him something special, something they'd never done.

She'd dropped to her knees and looked up at him with one eyebrow raised, her hands moving to the buttons of his fly to free his jutting hardness, licking her lips in anticipation of the taste of him, but he'd stumbled back, falling over the low wall behind him and into the soft hay below. She'd thought it had been an accident and after making sure he was ok, joined him in the hay, ready to get back to what she'd been doing, but he'd grabbed her hands tightly to stop her, pulling her up his body for a kiss instead. As wonderful as that was, she had her heart set on giving him the same sort of pleasure he gave her, using her mouth on him, showing him how much of him she could handle, craving the taste of him hot and hard on her tongue.

_"Daryl..."_ she'd almost whined when he'd held her hands to keep them from working his fly open.

"You don't have to." he'd said with a frown, "I won't make you." he looked troubled and his voice was soft and low.

"Daryl, I _want_ to...unless it's something _you_ don't like, and then of course we don't have to." she told him carefully.

"Ya don't have to lie to me—don't ever lie to me Carol, especially about this kind of thing." he said with real pain in his voice. Carol looked confused—what was he talking about? She sat up and looked down at him. "_I know women hate to do it...blow jobs." _he whispered, embarrassed. "I know you prob'ly been forced to do it by... by _him_." meaning Ed, her first husband, "...n' ya think I need it too, but I _don't._"

"That's not true, Daryl—I mean probably there are _some_ women who don't—some men too—" and he snorted at that, "and yes, it wasn't something that I ever really liked doing for him, but that's why I want to with _you..."_ she looked at him, tilting her head to the side and giving him back one of his tiny side of the mouth smiles, and then her voice went all gravelly and harsh, telling him what she wanted to do to him, _"I want to lick you like the best lolly ever until you can't see straight...dig my fingernails into your ass to hold you still...while I take you deep in my throat and make you come with my mouth and hand on you and then swallow every drop..."_

Daryl started to sweat.

_"Fuck."_ he whispered, mesmerized, releasing her hands.

It had been quite a memorable afternoon.

* * *

And now he was leaving the day after next with Carl and Michonne and Rick. She wanted to brand him, imprint him as hers, leave him with a sensual memory he could live on for months if need be, but she'd been forestalled by the realities of her body's need to recover from its ordeal.

That Daryl preferred to sleep buck naked meant that all she had to do was be a bit stealthy about how she approached him. She'd spooned in behind him and started her seduction by trailing fingertip light caresses on his shoulders and back and he'd relaxed back against her in his sleep and she'd been able to ease him on to his belly so she could enjoy the sight and then the feel of his muscular back and bottom. He'd come awake only when she'd opened her mouth over his spine, hot and wet, and she did what she'd been craving to do for days—_taste him—_his skin salty smoky warm and remarkably soft on the places the sun seldom reached.

That had surprised her the first time she'd touched him there, how his hands could be so rough and calloused but his ass and hips and cock so amazingly tender. He had one livid purple scar that ran from his left hip over the meat of that cheek marring the perfect flesh and she wondered how he'd gotten it. Most of the others, on his back and chest, were straight lines ranging from three or four to eight or ten inches, the marks made by a brutal rod or quirt, but this one curved with the line of the muscle and had the marks from stitches, small tiny round holes that ran down both sides; it had been vicious and deep.

Carol knew every inch of his body now, could replay him in her head like her favorite series, each plot point and climax memorized, each response anticipated but always a welcome surprise when her efforts yielded a new one, as if _he_ could rewrite the script as easily as she, keeping the next episode as thrilling as the last.

She loved how his voice would rise in pitch right before he came, whimpering and babbling incoherent endearments interlaced with profanity, how his hands shook with need when she drove him to the edge and kept him there, refusing to release him until the exact right instant. She supposed she got off on it—knowing that she could make him feel like that—that his pleasure was literally _in_ her hands, _in_ her mouth, _in_ her body...the rush she felt when he fell apart, moaning and writhing in ecstasy from what she was doing to...for..._with _ him. Yes. She got off on getting him off; that simple.

Getting him to lie back and enjoy it, though, was sometimes the most difficult part.

* * *

Daryl had learned early on that women expected reciprocation in sex. That it was considered good sexual manners to give as good as you got. The first woman he'd been with had been one of his father's waitresses—he'd meet them at all night diners after coming off a bender and usually hole up in a motel somewhere, but sometimes the nicer ones he'd bring home to cook and clean and warm his bed for a few weeks or months. Daryl had been sixteen, awkward, but all broad shoulders, narrow hips and big blue eyes with a shock of dark blonde hair falling into them. His beardless narrow face was still softer, more rounded out with the remnants of baby fat, and he had only recently acquired his first tattoo, the small devil on his inner bicep, which hurt like hell, the skin under it red and swollen.

His daddy had left for work and Daryl and 'Marlene' (that's what the badge on her uniform said anyhow), were alone in the kitchen. She was dishing out a second helping of scrambled eggs laced with peppers, onions, ham and cheese, leaning close, asking him what kind of toast he wanted, when he'd accidentally knocked his coffee cup onto the floor, shattering it. He'd ducked from the blow he expected, raising his arm to protect himself and she'd seen the swollen angry place on his upper arm.

After calmly cleaning up the broken cup and spilled coffee Marlene had quietly asked if she could take a look at his arm. He'd only agreed because it hurt like hell and he'd been having visions of infected needles and amputations or worse. She'd cleaned it with alcohol, telling him it didn't look infected, that it was the natural healing process after a tat, and then unbuttoned her blouse to show him the leaping blue dolphin she had tattooed on the inner curve of her breast. Sixteen year old Daryl Dixon had never been that close to a grown woman's naked breast before...she watched him staring at her chest and smiled, leaning forward to brush her lips over his small devil, telling him everything would be ok as her hand moved to close over his cock.

Every morning after his father left for work and before he had to be at school, he and Marlene would have a lesson of their own. Inevitably he wracked up too many slips for tardiness, late for class when his enthusiasm for Marlene's private sessions became excessive, and a call was made to his father, who came looking for him and found Daryl in his bed, with his woman. He threw his naked son backwards through a plate glass window when Daryl tried to stop him from attacking Marlene. It had taken 18 stitches to seal the jagged wound. Threatened with statutory rape charges, Marlene vanished from Daryl's life, which became even more harsh and isolated after that...

* * *

Carol knew bits and pieces of this—they'd traded 'how I lost my virginity' stories one night not long after their interlude in the haymow, but he'd been vague on the details, telling her only that he'd been sixteen and the woman had been older and kind to him. She'd quirked a smile at him and said that maybe he _did_ have a type. They'd been having a light argument over the issue of reciprocation. He loved going down on her—it was one of his favorite things to do—but rarely would he let her do the same, and the idea that _she_ would even if _he_ _didn't_ just seemed to upset his notion of sexual ethics.

"But don't you see?" Carol implored him, "It should go both ways then. How many times have _you_ driven me insane with...you know..._that_...and I haven't done it back? Tit for tat, ying and yang? Bread and butter? Abbott and Costello?"

"Abbott and Costello?" he'd laughed, "What the _hell_ do they have to do with it?"

"Can't have one without the other?" she tried.

"You lettin' me into yer life s'all I need," Daryl said, and he'd hugged her close.

"You _like_ _it_ don't you?" she'd pushed, knowing he had. He'd just about passed out in the haymow he'd come so hard.

"We're done talkin' 'bout this." he'd growled.

Daryl should've known it would, pardon the pun, come up again. The woman never would let well enough alone. Of course he loved it. The sight of her willingly taking him in her mouth was enough to make him come all by itself, and when she lavished her loving tender care on his cock until his balls drew up and he exploded into her soft hot heat, taking everything he gave her, he just about lost his need to breathe. But then he'd flash on the waitress, who'd been sucking him like there was no tomorrow when his daddy had burst in on them, on the poor methed out girls in the back of Merles' car, blowing him for a dime rock, throwing up after; and after the Turn, the man whose head he'd blown off with a shotgun when he and Merle had found him forcing a boy to do it, holding a gun to his head.

* * *

"Don't you _like_ my mouth on you?" she said. "On _all_ of you?"

_"You gotta be kiddin' me..."_ he ground out and sighed, letting his head fall back to hit the mattress. "Don't start this again Carol," and to her dismay, he reached down and pulled the covers up over himself, hiding his body from her, closing her out. She frowned at him, waiting, but he stonewalled her.

"I need to know, Daryl, why this is such an issue for you." Carol finally said with a sigh. "I've told you I want to—that I enjoy it—why won't you believe me? If I told anyone else I was having to talk you into a blow job, they'd think I was nuts!"

"Don't call it that—ain't like you." Daryl winced at the crude slang for the act and then pulled the sheet up over his head, not wanting to see the hurt look on her face.

"Daryl, you're leaving." Carol began evenly, but her voice became more strident as she continued. "You're going to be gone for god knows how long and I want to _be_ with you now...and I can't _be_ with you in the usual ways we are because of our sons being pushed out of my ho-ha about a week ago, so unless you tell me what the _fuck_ is wrong with it, I'm going to list every euphemism for oral sex I know and then _do_ it to you!" He didn't move, so she began: _"Tickle your pickle,_ _go down on you, suck you off, fellatiate yer piece_ (she'd overheard Merle use that one), _choke on your python_—"

"Jesus Carol!" Daryl snorted, dragging the sheet down off of his reddened face and looking at her like she'd lost her mind.

"God, I love a man that blushes." she purred and leaned over him, bringing her mouth close to his ear, "_give you head, play your flute, slap the monkey—"_

"Thas not–thas...thas _jerking off_," he interrupted as she uttered the last one, stuttering in confusion, craning his head back and squinting at her.

"I thought so—slapping sounded more like just a hand thing." she said with the contemplative nod of a scholar.

"Yer crazy, ya know that, dontcha, woman?" he marveled, tentatively leaning towards her, bringing his hands out from under the sheet to take hold of her shoulders, looking at her mouth. She met him halfway, and the healing kiss was good, leaving them both a little breathless.

"Talk to me Daryl." she said gently, "Tell me what's wrong. Why this bothers you so much."

Daryl sighed; he should've known he wouldn't be able to keep anything like this from her forever. He pulled her down and tucked her in close to his body and with another deep sigh, cleared his throat.

"So s'pose you noticed I gotta scar on my ass?" he began.

* * *

_**I like that even though Daryl still has his hang ups from his damaged life, (Carol does too), she knows how to deal with him—basically the same way she always has, with love, humor, patience and a push at just the right time.**_

_**Let's hope she gets the chance on the show-Caryl reunion people! We must have it!**_


	11. Chapter 11: Family Man

_**Everyone is dealing with the responsibilities of having a family in the walker apocalypse, pretty much scared spitless most of the time, (which is actually pretty much like all of the rest of us every day...) but getting by with a lot of help from their partners and friends.**_

* * *

_**Family Man**_

"Is it ready?"

"Yes, Daryl—now go get changed."

"Yer sure? I mean_, everythin'_ like I said?"

"Go! Or you'll be late. Your friend Michonne is bringing her."

"So she doesn't suspect nothin'?"

"No—_now git_!" Abraham ordered, pushing the tracker out the back door of the lodge in to the afternoon chill. The first week of December in north Georgia was frigid this year; snow was threatening and some had questioned the wisdom of setting out on a mission under less than optimum conditions, but Daryl knew they'd already lost too much time, the girls' trail going colder than the winter winds with every day that passed.

Daryl went to the communal warehouse tent where everything from clothing to pots and pans were gathered and sorted after being scavenged on runs. He found Carl and Rick there, getting resupplied to prepare for their journey the next day.

Rick had been provisionally admitted to the fort on the condition that someone else from their original group was with him at all times. That duty had fallen to Carl and Michonne. Neither Carol nor Daryl was in a particularly forgiving frame of mind about his actions regarding her. Daryl knew he'd have to face it soon enough during the forced togetherness of their travels, but for now his focus was on Carol and their kids.

"Hey Daryl." Carl called out, grinning shyly, stopping in the middle of trying on an insulated black leather motorcycle jacket.

"You about ready, little man?" Daryl asked, realizing that the kid was almost as tall as he was now.

"You sure about this?" Carl asked, frowning slightly and stealing a glance at his father who was suddenly fascinated with a pile of of gloves on the other side of the room.

"Which part? You or her?" Daryl said, with an answering grin.

_"Me_—I mean, I always thought my dad would…"his voice trailed off and Daryl came and put his hand on Carl's shoulder.

"I picked the best man I know." Daryl said meaningfully and Carl smiled up at him and then ducked his head, nodding it up and down slowly.

"Thanks, Daryl." Carl said proudly.

"Now come help me pick out somethin' to wear. Other than Glenn and Maggie's, I ain't never been part of a weddin' party." Daryl said, slapping Carl on the back. Rick's head shot up and then he huffed and shook his head in derision.

* * *

"I wish you could apologize for other people." Michonne said as she looked down at the two small boys in their cradle and then raised her eyes to their mother standing next to her. Carol smiled slightly, reaching down to pull the blue and green blankets a little higher over them and then looked over at the swordswoman.

"Doesn't do much good." Carol agreed quietly. _Especially when they're not sorry for what they'd done._ She thought to herself. She wasn't sure if there was any way to mend the breach between Rick and her, but for Carl and Judith's sake, for Lori, she'd have to try.

"They're beautiful—so is Rose." Michonne said wistfully, an emotional tone Carol hadn't often heard from her. "You had a daughter? Before the Turn?" She continued, knowing Carol's story from her talks while on the road with both Andrea and Daryl.

"Sophia." Carol nodded. "In a way I suppose she brought Daryl and me together."

"When he searched for her."

"That's right."

"But she died."

"Yes. She died."

"How can you have more? _Risk_ that again?" Michonne's expression was equal parts sadness and anger, not understanding why someone would leave themselves open to that agony again. Judith wasn't even hers and every day she felt her loss, saw the way it had almost destroyed her father's sanity.

"Because I have love…and hope…" Carol said simply. "Don't get me wrong, it wasn't easy getting here. When I found out I was pregnant I was so confused…we were just starting out here, I never thought I'd see Daryl again, how could I care for a baby in this wilderness …what would I do if I lost it? Would it kill _me_ too?"

"So you and he _were_…" Michonne asked, cocking her head to the side in curiosity.

"I was jealous of you—going out looking together." Carol admitted, "Wondered if _you_ were…" and then she blushed—it was really none of her business if anything had happened between the two warriors back then.

"Not for lack of trying." Michonne snorted. "That man is sex on a stick, he just doesn't know it."

"Oh god, tell me about it!" Carol laughed, "All he has to do is walk into a room and I get damp." In a bizarre way it was wonderful to have another woman to talk to about Daryl. Sara was sweet, but despite her knowledge of all things to do with the _outcomes_ of sex, the young woman was very inexperienced in dealing with relationships. Rosita was a wonderful friend, but gay and just didn't appreciate Daryl's appeal quite the same way.

"I asked him, you know—to have a go—turned me down flat." Michonne said with wry nod. "Figured he was either into Rick or had somethin' going on with you."

"Into _Rick?_" Carol raised both eyebrows.

"Can't deny those two had a bond—lots a non-verbal shorthand, trust. The way Daryl was with Judith and Carl—thought maybe it was a "my two dads" sorta thing at first." Michonne said with a shrug, remembering the short conversation she'd overheard on the road to Woodbury going to rescue Maggie and Glenn, Rick telling Daryl_, "I know what you did for me—for my baby—when I was workin' things out…"_ and Daryl's terse response, _"It's what we do."_

Carol considered that. The two men had been like brothers—Daryl had given Rick stability, he leaned on the tracker like he had once done with Shane. It had been the presence of Judith, Carl and their entire group that had pulled Rick out of his fugue after Lori's death, but he had relied most heavily on Daryl's back up, even accepting Merle so he could have Daryl back in the fold. It was obvious that without Daryl, Judith and Carl that Rick's mental state had deteriorated once again.

"But then I would see the way Daryl looked at _you_." Michonne said with a barely there smile. "Like you was a life preserver and he was a drownin' man."

"Funny since he was always the one saving me." Carol said, remembering Daryl's stints going all knight in shining armoring for her.

"No. Uh uh." Michonne shook her head at the other woman. "You saved _him_. I never thought I'd see him like this— Daryl Dixon? Happy family man?" she chuckled, "Boggles the mind."

"We _have _been happy here…" Carol said wistfully, "…it's been like a dream. Sometimes I worry that I'll wake up shivering in the back seat of that shitty station wagon again, hearing Rick's voice in my head telling me that he thinks I'll kill his children…"

"Yeah, well he's a dick." Michonne said laconically and Carol looked over at her wide eyed. "And he gives everyone _with_ a dick a second chance—from what Daryl told me he knew that dude Shane killed an innocent man to save Carl, and Rick let in Merle after he tried to kill _me_, just so he could keep Daryl there, and Hershel _watched_ Carl kill that kid outside the prison—hell, Rick was even talking truce with The Governor to spare the group after the fucking bastard killed Andrea and Merle!" the last she said more heatedly, the final battle with Blake and its losses had been hard on them all.

"So why did you go after him?" Carol asked curiously.

"Because Rick's part of the family and every family has its crazy ass uncles and loser cousins, right?" Michonne said flippantly, but Carol could see the underlying pain in her eyes. Michonne _cared _for Rick, probably more than she wanted to admit. "I swallowed what he did to you to keep the peace when everything was falling apart, but I regretted it. I can't apologize for him, but I can for myself…" she held her hand out to Carol then, looking her straight in the eye, "I'm sorry for not helping Daryl look for you."

Carol looked down at the strong scarred hand with its half glove and sword callouses and then back up at Michonne's warily expectant face. For so long she'd wanted one of them to say just this, to tell her Rick had been wrong and to say that they were sorry.

"Thank you." Carol said and took hold of the proffered hand. "Taking someone's life-no matter the reason- shouldn't be something you can ever forget. I've been trying to make up for it …every day since I did…what I did…."

"I killed a man right in front of Rick, Daryl and Oscar—stabbed him through the heart to shut him up so he wouldn't bring the walkers outside his cabin down on us." Michonne told her in a monotone. "Far as any of us knew he was an innocent man—hermit type—just gone a little squirrelly and wouldn't shut up—was endangering the group. So I killed him. Don't see a lot of difference between what you did and that."

"But you didn't _know_ him—hadn't made friends with him—I _liked _David, I rooted for Karen and Tyreese's romance, admired how she carried on after losing her son. They were real people, _friends_, not _strangers."_ Carol said softly, tears running down her face.

"You told Rick they were _dying._.."

"They were." Carol said, remembering the agony on David's face, his eyes weeping bloody tears as he reached to her sheathed knife.

"Then what you did wasn't any different than what we do to stop one of our own from turning." Michonne told her gently, putting her arm around her and pulling her into an unexpected hug. When she released the smaller woman, Michonne stepped away and held out a loosely wrapped package that she pulled from the nearby chair.

"What's this?" Carol asked, sniffing and wiping the tears from her face.

"Open it." Michonne said, suppressing her grin. Frowning, Carol wiped her tear stained hands on her jeans and took it from her. She untied the messy twine bow and the grocery sack paper fell open revealing a folded blue garment. Carol carefully unfolded it and saw that it was a light blue raw silk dress, small pearl buttons running down the length of it from the V-necked bodice to a flowing skirt.

"It's beautiful..." Carol said, still frowning, looking up at Michonne quizzically.

"You have about 15 minutes to put it on. He's waiting." Michonne let her grin free and it was all teeth and dimples and maybe even a tear could be glimpsed in the corner of her eye.

* * *

Carol looked at herself in the old silvered mirror over the dresser in the bedroom and smoothed down the whisper soft material of the blue dress over her still rounded abdomen. She hadn't even tried to lose the little baby weight she'd gained with the twins. Daryl had told her she was too skinny before and that he liked having more of her to play grab ass with-god love him! He was such a tactile person she wasn't surprised that he had found the silk for her and that the blue perfectly matched her eyes. She felt like a queen.

Michonne opened the bedroom door, an anxious look on her face.

"Are we running late?" Carol asked with a smile, "I don't have a watch."

"Sam was just at the door—there's a big herd comin' in from the south, they need everyone at battle stations." she told Carol regretfully, "Sara's here with Rose and said she'll watch the boys, move them into the shelter if need be." They had made a dug out root cellar to help with preservation of foodstuffs and it also served as a last resort fallout shelter for the children if needed.

Carol nodded and sighed, unbuttoning the top few of the tiny pearl fastenings and then just gave up and pulled the gown off over her head. She quickly pulled back on her jeans, sweater, boots and leather coat and after pausing to kiss her children, grabbed her compound bow from the rack by the front door and led Michonne to the battlements where her sword was returned to her in preparation for battle.

* * *

"God damn mother fu—" Daryl began his rant but Rick caught his eye and looked pointedly at Carl with a raised eyebrow. Although sure that the kid had heard and probably _said_ much worse while on his solo trek north, Daryl let Rick play doting dad and self-edited. "Mother _fudgin'_ walkers!"

They were up on the ramparts watching as a large herd approached the outer perimeter of the fort. In the low light of dusk it was hard to make them all out, but it looked like about a hundred.

"Shit!" Rick said, pointing to something at the front of the pack—three people, running, stumbling, exhausted. As they watched, the one farthest back closest to the herd turned and started to make a stand so the others could get away, firing his pistol until he ran out of ammo and then pulling a baseball bat from under his backpack and swinging away. "_Shit, shit, shit!"_ Rick exclaimed.

Daryl took aim with his cross bow, taking out the one closest to the man who had stopped, and another arrow hit the next closest. Carl, Daryl and Rick turned and saw Michonne and Carol standing just past the steps, Carol just having loosed her arrow.

"Lower the other ladders!" Carol yelled loudly, throwing the rope emergency ladder in front of her over the side and then leaned over the side to call to the runners. "Head for the drawbridge—up and over—ladders waiting!" If they could get them past the drawbridge and pull it up after them they'd be protected by the moat and spikes, giving them enough time to climb.

"He's not going to make it!" Rick yelled, ran past Carol and Michonne and before they could stop him, he leapt over the side and down the ladder.

"Dad! NO!" Carl screamed, trying to follow, but Daryl held him back.

"God _**damn **_it!" Michonne yelled and started after him, but Carol grabbed her arm.

"Wait—_don't_!" Carol exclaimed, but Michonne pulled out of her grasp.

"I have to." the swords woman said with a desperate look of love and pain, "Cover us!" and then she was gone as well. Daryl and Carol exchanged a horrified look as Carl still struggled to follow.

"Please—help them, Daryl, Carol _please!_" Carl begged.

"Concentrate your fire on the walkers around the rescue party and the lone man!" Carol yelled to the other defenders, notching another arrow and letting it fly straight into the head of the walker who had almost reached the struggling man from the group of three. She continued methodically firing into the herd, watching as Michonne reached Rick, who was brandishing his machete wildly, moving past the two runners who had reached the drawbridge.

"_Get to the wall!"_ they heard Rick yell, taking out one of the faster moving walkers who had fallen in behind them.

"They have to hurry," Carol muttered to herself. If enough walkers made it over the drawbridge and pushed against the gates, they could push through them. The essence of their defense wasn't just the wooden fence; it was the combination of it with the dry moat and the spiked posts.

The two runners had reached the ladders and were starting up the wall, but walkers were quickly filling in behind them. Carol looked over at Daryl and Carl with an agonized expression.

"I can't risk the whole fort for three people." She said desperately, reliving her nightmare decision at the prison. Daryl stared at her levelly and then gave her a short nod. Releasing Carl he looked at the boy with a hard almost angry look.

"You're gonna help us keep any more from getting' over the bridge, got that?" Daryl ordered and Carl looked wild-eyed back at him. _"Carl! We need you now!"_ Daryl growled, shoving a sharp shooters rifle at him. Carl slowly nodded and then followed Daryl and Carol to the battlements over the gate.

Rick and Michonne working as a unit were like a beautiful machine, seeming to know what the other would do before they did it. They sliced a path through the walkers surrounding the third man, supported by the arrows, bolts and precisely aimed rifle shots coming from behind them. When they reached their target the man at first couldn't seem to distinguish them from walkers and took aim at them with his bat, but Rick grabbed it mid swing and then took a step back in seeming recognition. Michonne yelled something at the two of them and they turned as one and followed her back towards the wall, slicing and battering their way through.

_"Come on, come on..."_ Carol chanted, looking at the buildup underneath them at the gate and then to the top of the wall where the first of the three runners was being pushed over by the person behind. It was a young girl of about 7 or 8 with long blonde hair in braids wound around her head like Heidi from the Alps. Behind her came a totally exhausted pale woman with medium length brown hair and big green eyes.

"Oh my god, oh god—thank you_...thank you!"_ the woman said all in a rush, hugging the girl to her tightly.

"_Mom!_ What about Daddy?" The little girl wailed, pulling away and looking back over the wall. The brunette took a deep breath, grabbed one of the rifles set back against the inner wall and took three quick steps forward and looked to Carol.

"Tell me what to shoot!" she said loudly and Carol smiled, liking her immediately.

"Help us keep the drawbridge clear." Carol told her and the woman nodded."I'm Carol."

"Lily—and this is my daughter Meghan." the woman said, taking her first shot, hitting a walker dead on through the forehead, "That's my man out there." She said with a nod to the man being escorted in by Rick and Michonne.

Daryl took up a position next to Carol after shouldering his bow, out of bolts, leveling a rifle on the top of the crenellations.

"How we doin' sweetheart?" Daryl drawled, looking briefly at Carol, bumping her lightly with his hip. Carol smiled up at him and loosed another arrow.

"_That_ must be yours." Lily said with a surprising amount of gusto. "They're almost to the bridge!" she yelled with a whoop, and Meghan started jumping up and down in excitement.

"Gate's holdin'" Daryl said, watching the few walkers who were still making it through the barrage scratch and claw at the wooden barrier. A sharpened piece of rebar slammed out through the peephole in the door, taking out the closest walker and Daryl grinned, knowing Abe was on duty as guardian of his gate.

"Raise the drawbridge!" Carol yelled as the last one through, Rick, cleared the walkway over the moat. She dropped her bow, out of arrows now too and grabbed a rifle. Carl, Lily, Daryl and Carol continued to pick off the walkers that had worked their way in between the moat and the wall as Michonne started up the rope ladder after the man Meghan had called daddy.

Rick watched their back, picking off walkers, but didn't see the fallen one, caught halfway in the deep ditch behind him reaching for his leg. He felt the sharp quick pain of a bullet creasing his bicep, (unbeknownst to him taking out his unseen attacker), and reeled back, holding his bleeding arm and looking up at the wall wildly to see who had shot him.

_"Sorry!"_ Carol called down—she'd really had no choice if she wanted to take out the biter before Rick would end up, best case scenario, like Hershel.

_"Daryl will still go after them even if you kill me too!"_ Rick yelled, beyond angry, almost apoplectic.

_"She just __saved__ your life you stupid mother fucker!"_ Daryl yelled, pointing at the practically beheaded walker behind the former sheriff, its hands almost grasping his leg. Rick looked at the walker, his mouth open and back up at Carol.

"Now get your ass up here before I shoot you _myself!"_ Daryl snarled the command at his former leader.

"Please dad—hurry! The blood will draw them to you!" Carl added his plea when Rick hesitated. Finally he started up the ladder, the others above firing to keep the last of the trapped fragment of the herd off of him.

Carl looked over at Carol and mouthed a silent but heartfelt thank you to her and she nodded.

"Daryl—grab him!" Rick yelled up, seeing the man they'd rescued had almost reached the top, but before Daryl could get to him, he was over the wall and both Meghan and Lily flew to embrace him.

"Daddy!" the little girl cried and he picked her up, hugging her close.

_"Me-ha!"_ the man said, kissing the top of her head.

"You could have died!" Lily said angrily—but then burst into tears and embraced him. _"What would we have done then, Caesar? What would we have done without you?"_

Michonne reached the top then and leapt down and pulled out her katana threateningly, standing guard over the little family. Daryl looked at the face of the man he'd met and shared a smoke n' some walker killin' with while their two crazy son of a bitch leaders had traded big noises.

"What the hell, Martinez?" Daryl drawled, pointing at the woman and child, "I thought you were dead." and also that he was done with trying to have any sort of family attachments...

"You kill him?" Caesar Martinez, erstwhile first lieutenant to Phillip Blake asked. Both Daryl and Michonne nodded. "Good." he sighed in relief. "Tried to do it but he ditched us, high and dry in the middle of the night, like he knew what we were up to. Shump walked himself into a herd a couple days later. I was lucky enough to meet up with Lily—she saved my life." he said fondly.

"And me!" Meghan piped up, hugging him tightly around the neck.

"And you _mi pequeña_."

Rick came over the wall and took in the situation with a frowning grimace.

"Do you know who he _is_?" Rick said angrily. Michonne moved to him, examining his arm wound, but it was shallow and had already almost stopped bleeding. She took the bandana off of her head and wrapped and tied it around his bicep to keep pressure on it.

"Looks to me like someone else who's looking for a second chance." Carol said quietly, her tone warning him to back off.

"For now you need to hand over your weapons and come with us." Daryl told them, laying down the fort code.

Lily stiffened and looked to Carol for reassurance.

"It's all right—you'll be together and safe—we'll fix you up a place to stay and get a hot meal in you." Carol said, smiling calmly.

"She on the level?" Martinez slanted a glance at Daryl, the only one he trusted to tell him the truth.

"She's the boss." Daryl grinned and Lily smiled at that and nodded in agreement.

"Mommy!' Meghan cried in sudden concern, "What about _Tuna?_" the other adults around her all looked puzzled.

"Honey, I don't think—" Lily began sadly, but Caesar set the girl down and pulled off his back pack.

"You think I'd leave Tunabreath behind?" he said and unzipped the bag. A small black furry head with big yellow eyes peered over the top of the opening and Meghan squealed in delight.

"Tuna!" she cried and scooped up the half grown all black kitten, cradling it in her arms.

"Well, I'll be," Daryl said, smiling. He liked cats—admired their _fuck you_ independent attitude just as much as he liked dogs for their loyalty.

"And I guess we'll scrounge you up a litter box and something a cat can eat..." Carol said dryly.

"Thank you Miss Carol." Meghan said with southern politeness.

"I think it's _Mrs._ Carol, hon." Lily corrected, looking at Daryl.

"About to be, soon as we know the herd is safely by us." Daryl said with a shy smile and a nod at Carol and she smiled back at him.

"A weddin'?" Martinez said, and Daryl nodded. "Sorry to call you away from the festivities." he apologized. Rick cleared his throat in derision. Martinez looked at the man who had come over the wall to save him. "Should thank you, Grimes—you too Michonne. Suppose though if you'd known it was me you'd have thought twice about the rescue." he grimaced.

"We breathers need to stick together." Michonne said, snorting, wiping off her blade with a rag, adding, "Even the assholes." she encompassed both Martinez and Rick in her gaze. Then she sheathed her katana and handed it back to Carol.

* * *

"Carol, a while ago ya told me I was just gonna have to get used to the love; even after I'd pushed you away, after I tried to give up on what we had because I didn't trust it." Daryl said, looking at the woman standing in front of him. He was wearing black jeans, a dark blue shirt and his angel vest, which Carol loved, and his hair was carefully combed to the side, off his brow so she could see his emotion filled eyes. "When I came back and found you gone, I knew what a fool I'd been, how I'd wasted so many chances, so much time…" Daryl paused and looked to the back of the large lodge great room, where Rick hovered half in and half out of the door. Rick had his hair trimmed and had shaved off his beard for the occasion, looking less like a bad imitation of Hershel and more like the man who had rolled into the quarry camp outside of Atlanta so long ago. Michonne stood just inside the room, next to him, looking stoic.

"It took an act of madness to make me see what you'd always known: that we belong together; that in this screwed up world our fates somehow got tangled up." He stopped and looked at the smiling faces of their friends all around them. "We've all lost so much…so many…and it'd be easy to shut down and give up and let the herd over the walls and through the gates…but we made a _family_…" he looked to Rose and the babies, held by Carl and Sara, his head shaking in wonder, his gaze warm and then he huffed out a little sigh and cleared his throat, "…an thas 'bout the second longest speech I ever made in my life so I'm just gonna shut up after I tell you that to me you are perfect and I'll always love you."

Dressed in her sky blue dress with all of the tiny pearl buttons, holding tightly to Daryl's warm strong hands, Carol slowly looked around the room at the people who'd changed her life. Her friends, her family. Her man.

* * *

_**So boo yah! I resurrected Meghan and Martinez. In my AU it was Caesar, not "Brian" who found them. Lily's sister had been killed trying to get the oxygen at the Nursing home and Lily was on a desperate mission back there to try to save her father when she met up with Caesar. When the old man died, they left heading north, as far away from Woodbury and the prison as Martinez could go. When the truck broke down they saw the fort in the distance and unfortunately got caught up in the herd as they approached it.**_

_**Rick still has his heroic urges and Michonne backs him up, giving Carol a bad moment when she thinks she might have to leave them outside the gates. In the end Carol saves his life, (in a call back to the fight for the prison in the S3 opener) by shooting the walker about to take a bite out of his leg.**_

_**Easter Eggs:**__** Eye in the Dark got a special cameo in here after seeing NR's People's Sexiest Cat Owners appearance, and there's even a little tweak on AL's "Love Actually" notecard scene with Kiera Knightly in there too, LOL!**_


	12. Chapter 12: The Searchers

_**Carol and Daryl cope with their forced separation as the search for the girls begins.**_

**_AN: Sorry that this has taken so long to update, but I had some thinking to do about where I wanted to go with it. I think it will be about three more chapters._**

* * *

**_The Searchers_**

"She up there again?" Martinez asked, looking towards the watch tower above the main gate.

"Yeah—traded with Rosita for another shift." Abe replied, nodding his head in disgust.

"She's gonna wear herself out." Sam said, coming to stand beside the other men assigned to guarding the main gate.

Caesar Martinez had quickly proven himself a valuable asset to the community, stepping up to take over many of Daryl's duties and responsibilities such as patrols, hunting and scavenging missions. His adopted daughter Meghan was a great help with Rose, keeping her occupied, (but begging for a kitten of her own), and his woman, Lily, a nurse, was hard at work helping Carol at the Fort medical center. She was also pregnant and having the same fears that every woman did during this time after the Turn.

"I know—tried to get her to come down and take a break, but she said she'd be fine." Caesar said, shifting his rifle onto his shoulder while he continued to gaze up at the woman in the tower.

"How long are they overdue now? Two weeks?" Sam asked.

"Almost three...she must be losing her mind." Martinez replied.

"At least she let Sara move in and help her with the boys and Rose. She wasn't getting hardly any sleep that first month, started to look like a walker herself..." Abe added.

"You think they're dead?" Sam asked with a sigh.

"_Fuck no._ Daryl wouldn't dare." Caesar laughed ruefully, and the other men chuckled at the truth of it.

It had been almost seven months since Daryl, Michonne, Rick, and Carl had set out from Fort Dixon on their search for Beth, Judith and Lizzie. The plan had been that they search for six months and then rendezvous back here and reexamine their strategy if they hadn't found the girls by then. If possible they would send word back on their progress with any other travelers and traders heading north, but no such world had come in the whole time they had been gone and it was seriously testing Carol's resolve.

Standing with her sharpshooter's rifle atop the tower, Carol thought back on how many hours she had done the same at the prison, alone or with one of the others, making sure there was no build up at the fences, that the water hook up to the narrow river that passed in front of the prison was running, that the front gate was clear when Michonne came galloping up on her horse or Daryl returned from a hunt on foot or on the bike.

She'd been jealous of how often they'd been able to escape the sometimes stultifying confines of the place, her latent claustrophobia sometimes getting the best of her. When Rick had taken her on that last run, even though she'd harbored the very real fear that he was taking her out to kill her, just as he'd done Shane, with a swift knife to the heart or bullet to the head; even then part of her was actually happy just to get outside the fences.

Now days she was all about the safety to be had by staying within her tall wooden walls behind the spiked moat. Her babies were safe, thriving, Charlie almost caught up to Teddy in size. At almost three, Rose was a joy, but ran them all ragged keeping her out of trouble. It wasn't that she was bad or even mischievous; she was just _almost three_ and missed her father terribly.

Sam had caught her arguing with Mark at the gate at the crack of dawn three days ago, wearing her little Hello Kitty back pack full of what she had deemed necessary supplies, including her toy crossbow slung across the top, telling him she was heading out to bring her papa back because her mama cried at night. Carol had shown up, frantic with worry because Rose's bed had been empty when she'd gone to wake her that morning, and after a terrible argument, both of them had tearfully hugged and then Carol had carried her determined daughter home.

With each passing day that went beyond the time they'd planned to return to check in, Carol's chest felt a little tighter, as if someone's fist was closing over her heart, squeezing the life out of her.

Looking through the scope Carol saw movement at the edge of the forest and focused in on it. Her finger was on the trigger, ready to pick off a walker if that's what revealed itself. What she saw almost made her drop her gun. It was a tank.

The gun turret came through the tree line first and she could head the clacking clank of the tracks as they rolled the massive armored vehicle inexorably towards the stockade. Cold icy dread held Carol stock still. Everything they had built here, everyone she cared about who resided within its walls could be lost; if it fired its big gun they had no defense against a weapon like this. The strong pine logs would split and break, splinters would explode out like daggers impaling anyone unlucky enough to be caught in the onslaught. Walkers they could defend against, but bad men, men with dynamite or heavy weaponry could be the end of them all.

Their only hope was escape or negotiation...

Someone farther down the line set off the alarm, the clanging of the big bell ringing out to assemble the people to red alert, the jarring sound finally shocking Carol out of her reverie and in her fury, her absolute fury at the tank's presence; she took careful aim at the turret and fired off a round, which pinged out loudly off of the metal surface.

To Carol's surprise the tank stopped cold, but then her stomach flipped as the gun swiveled and seemed to aim towards her location above the gates.

_Shit._

A barrage of gun fire went off then, banging and pinging against the tank's skin ineffectually until Carol called a cease fire.

_Why weren't they firing back?_

Then they all heard a strange clank clunk sound and the top hatch on the turret slowly swung open and an arm holding a dingy white t-shirt was raised up into the air.

"Hold your fire!" a loud voice yelled out from the interior and a second leather clad arm appeared, held up in surrender, followed by a shaggy mess of dark hair and then wonderfully familiar pointed face gazing up at her with a sheepish grin.

"Hi, honey, I'm home." Daryl Dixon drawled.

* * *

**_Six months earlier_**

Huddled together around the small fire as the snow blew around the outside of the small lean-to shelter they had made out of the tarps they carried on the bikes, Michonne, Carl and Rick shivered against the bitter wind. They had been on the road for three weeks, and if Carl's count was correct, tonight was Christmas Eve. Daryl had gone hunting; with their stock of supplies stretched as thin as possible, his squirrels and rabbits were their main source of protein.

They had hoped that by heading south as quickly as possible they would escape the worst of the winter weather, but this storm had whipped up starting at around noon and had grown steadily worse. The only good thing about the cold and snow was that the walkers they'd encountered had been so sluggish and partially frozen that they were easy to hear coming in the crunch of their feet over the icy snow and even easier to dispatch.

The search had begun by looking for the community that Sara had described to them, where the raiders had a more or less permanent base, but they had found it abandoned, and worse, filled with walkers who were mainly women and children. It was obvious that something very bad had gone down there. Michonne and Daryl had gone in alone, leaving Carl and Rick on watch outside the city limits, in case any raiders' patrols showed up.

As they failed to find any living, the tracker and warrior woman realized that they would have to undertake the sad task of ending the town's dead, hoping that they wouldn't find any of the girls for whom they searched amongst them.

"If they're there it will kill Rick." Michonne intoned, pulling out her katana and nodding at Daryl.

"Best we do these ourselves." Daryl had nodded in agreement and readied his bow.

It had taken them the rest of the day, working silently, sickened by what they found. Someone had almost gleefully engaged in sick acts of slaughter and torture, signing the kills by spray painting on the walls of the houses and buildings where most of the dead were trapped or bound.

"Have you noticed? How many of them..." Michonne's eyes filled with unaccustomed tears as she put the end of her blade through the head of what had been a young Asian woman bound to a bed, her head bloody, and her skull partially visible.

"Scalped." Daryl said with disgust. "Some sick fuck's takin' trophies." he pointed at the wall, to a name painted in red, saying the word printed there, _"El Cicatriz."_

"Yeah, I saw that a couple of other times—what the hell is it?" Michonne asked.

"Spanish... it means _scar..."_ Daryl said with a grimace, recognizing the signature for what it was.

_"What?"_ Michonne asked, frowning at him disbelievingly.

"Old John Wayne movie—bad guy in it, Apache maybe?—the one that took girls and women, took the Duke's niece; took scalps as trophies—name a' Scar, the Mexicans called him _"El Cicatriz."_

"What happened—did he find his niece?" Michonne asked, curious that Daryl would like old westerns, though if she thought about it, he did fit the strong silent cowboy type to a 't'.

"Yeah, he did, but it took him five years..." Daryl growled sadly, thinking of how much of his children's lives he was already missing, their first Christmas coming up in a couple of weeks.

"What was the name of it—the movie?"

"_The Searchers." _Daryl told her.

"Guess that's us all right." Michonne nodded sagely and swept out of the room in search of more victims.

* * *

"Merry Christmas everybody!" Daryl said with more gusto than any of them had felt since leaving the terrible scene of the town massacre almost two weeks ago. He dumped out his game bag onto the tarp that they had laid out below them to protect them from the damp ground. Eight small dead birds fell out, their heads lolling on their necks, most pierced through the eye as the kill shot, showing off Daryl's precision with a bolt.

"Hey—lil' tiny turkeys!" Carl cried happily.

"Them's bob white quail, kiddo. Official game bird of Georgia and Tennessee—I can see your nature education's been neglected since I saw you last." Daryl kidded, but looked pointedly at Rick. He'd been trying to take Carl out hunting with him before the sickness had hit, but since it meant giving the boy access to a fire arm his father had been resistant, preferring to teach him animal husbandry instead.

Daryl hunkered down next to the fire, grabbed up one of the small birds and started pulling out feathers, motioning to the others.

"Ain't gonna pluck themselves, you want a couple, you get the pins off 'em." Daryl said, and the others all picked up one of the quail and followed Daryl's example. Soon all eight birds were split, seasoned with the herbs Carol had packed and set to roasting over the fire while water heated in a pan to use on dried potato flakes. Rummaging in his back pack, Daryl pulled out several small packages wrapped in red tissue paper, which he had been instructed to hand out on Christmas if they were still out on the road.

"Might as well do this while we wait." Daryl said, carefully checking the name labels written in Carol's flowing script. Two went to Carl, two to Michonne and one to Daryl. Rick busied himself adding more wood to the fire, knowing Santa Daryl would have nothing for him in his bag. When he closed his eyes he still saw Carol's stoic face, tears running silently down her cheeks as she hugged each of the other travelers goodbye...he knew that look intimately. It was the same one she'd had on her face when she'd pleaded with him not to leave her that day, wiping her eyes, angry at herself for letting him see her raw emotions.

"Here," Daryl said, coming up beside Rick and nudging him with a small square package. Rick looked down and saw his name written on a small white label taped to its surface. Shocked, Rick gave Daryl a confused questioning look, but Daryl just shrugged.

"She said you'd understand." Daryl said.

"Open them all at once or one at a time?" Carl asked excitedly, Christmas and gifts making him a kid again.

"Make it last longer, do one at a time." Michonne pronounced, so they all sat around the fire as each person in turn unwrapped.

Michonne received a new head scarf, bold paisley in reds and greens, as well as a drawing of her, katana swiping through the head of a walker, signed by the artist, Miss Cherokee Rose Dixon. It was childish, but remarkably accurate, even down to the way the black and red blood arced up and away from the blade.

Carl's drawing depicted him as a true pirate on his ship, with what appeared to be a crew made up of others from the fort, including Daryl, Carol, Abe, Sara and Michonne, all dressed in pirate garb. In addition there was a beautifully rendered small oval framed painting of the photograph of Beth and Judith that he had shown them, signed by the artist, Rosita.

"That's amazing, Carl," Michonne said as she looked at it. Carl nodded and then after thinking for a minute, reached inside his coat and took the original photo out of the zippered pocket and handed it to his father.

"Merry Christmas, dad." Carl said, watching his father's eyes fill with tears as he examined the photo. He looked at Carl and just nodded his head up and down a couple of time before swiping at his eyes in embarrassment.

"You're next, Daryl." Michonne said, drawing their attention away from Rick.

Daryl pulled the tightly folded paper apart and found that Rosita had used the photo Rick had carried of him and Carol to use as the center of a family portrait, adding Rose and the babies, drawn from life, to it as well. There was also a small note attached, but he wanted to wait until he was alone to read it, so he palmed it before the others could ask about it.

"Looks like it's your turn." Michonne said to Rick, motioning at the box shaped package he still held. Looking up at Daryl, who gave him a look that said he had no idea what it could be, Rick tore open one end and let the square green box slide out into his hand. A stylized gold crown was embossed into the box's surface and under it was the word, also printed in gold: "Rolex." When he opened up the lid, he found a beautiful chrome silver watch with a diamond inlaid above the Rolex logo on the dial under the crystal.

Rick's hands shook at the not so subtle reminder of the day he'd lent his own watch to the hapless boy they'd never seen again; the day he thought he'd fixed it so he never saw Carol again. A small note fluttered out from beneath, between the box and the wrapping paper, and Rick almost dropped the watch as he grabbed at the feather light slip of paper. Written in the same handwriting as the label was a brief, direct message: "_Bring him back to me Rick, or don't come back." _Rick crumpled the slip of paper in his fist and stared at the watch.

"Huh," Michonne grunted, looking down at her scarf and then at the watch and raising an eyebrow, "Know it don't mean anything now, but that's a thirty thousand dollar watch," clearly comparing their relative dollar values. She removed her old sweat stained and frayed head band and tied on the new one and then carefully folded up the drawing and placed it inside a sandwich size zip loc bag in which she put all of her important mementoes, including a lock of blonde hair tied with a black ribbon, tucking the bag back inside her vest.

"Guess you got the short end of the stick," Daryl said to Rick without looking at him, touching Carol's face protected behind the plastic protective covering of the frame. The extremely personal handmade nature of the three others' gifts was not lost on any of them. Carol had known exactly what she was doing.

"Dinner's ready." Daryl announced, adding a bit of the boiling water to the drippings from the fat little birds to make thin gravy and then stirring the dried potatoes into the rest of the water. They were almost finished with the meal when a walker, drawn by either the fire or the smell of the meat cooking stumbled into the clearing, blue and pathetic, taken out by Daryl's thrown buck knife's hard _thunk_ through the center of his forehead, reminding them all of the sad reality of their situation.

* * *

**_Present day_**

Carol almost broke her neck running down the stairs from the ramparts, stopped only by Martinez actually catching her as she fell down the last three steps.

"Whoa there!" Caesar said, setting Carol back up on her feet.

"Open the gates!" she yelled impatiently, but Abraham stopped her, reminding her that they still had protocols they had to follow.

"Don't know who all's in there with him—could be Trojan Horse situation—no one gets in without an inspection—_your _rules darlin." the big man with the long side burns said earnestly.

"Shit," Carol said, rolling her eyes, "Do you _always_ do everything I tell you?" she asked impatiently; Daryl was so close she could taste him.

"I'd die for you, sweetheart, but I won't be stupid," he laughed and motioned for Caesar to open the peephole through the gate.

"Howdy Daryl." Abe said in his gruff good natured voice. "Need to see who all you got in there."

"Way ahead a' you, Abe." Daryl said, smiling as he lifted a small thin girl, her long brown hair matted into dreads, a bright paisley scarf holding them off of her face, up and out of the tank's turret and hugged her to him. The little girl clung to him like a barnacle, burying her head in his shoulder. Watching from the slightly lower second peephole, Carol gasped.

"Oh my god, _Judith..._"

* * *

**_So who else is in the tank? What did Carol write on Daryl's note? Where else have they been the last six months?_**

**_Carol's still not letting Rick off the hook so easily, is she? On the surface the gift of the watch is thoughtful-she knows he lost his-but it is also fraught with symbolic meaning. He has taken Daryl away from her and she is counting every second of that time they are apart, adding it to her list of grievances against the man she used to count as family._**

**_The plot just as Daryl described it, The Searchers is a 1956 classic western directed by John Ford and starring John Wayne. The psychopath who made the raiders' town his own private abattoir is obviously quite familiar with the film as well._**

**_I like to think portrait painting will make a comeback after photographic technology falls by the wayside in the ZA. In previous centuries it was commonplace to have a tiny self portrait painted to send off with your sweetheart into battle or on a long journey._**

**_Thanks to all favorites, followers and reviewers-let me know what you think! Happy New Year; )_**

**_DD1_**


End file.
